Life Goes On
by Nata2011
Summary: Sequel to the story "Life is Never Easy". What may happen to our characters when the wedding night is over. Catherine Howard, Henry Tudor, the Seymours and the other staff including. AU
1. Chapter 1

(Taking a piece of good advice, I decided to continue playing with these awesome characters from the show. But now there will be more personages and from this point of view it's more convenient to write it in the third person. I apologize beforehand for the kind of soap opera I'm going to create. It begins at the episode three of the fourth season, though I'll change some details later on.)

* * *

Lady Anne, a native Princess of Cleves and once the Queen of England but at present the beloved sister of His Majesty King Henry the Eighth and the wife of his Lord Privy Seal, was sitting at the desk filled up with papers. For a last few days she had not paid much attention to her correspondence and the result was visible – dozen of unopened messages, petitions, accounts, reports of the stewards looked at her with a silent reproach. It seemed that this stream would never stop. If it was not for her innate methodicalness and sense of order she would be unable to rake this paper dump. "Well, here they are, the consequences of your position" – Anne said to herself and with a sigh went on deciphering the mysterious figures meant to counterbalance debit and credit for the last months. Even the surface examination made it clear that the expenses for keeping the household at Hever became higher in June then they had been previously. And that bearing in mind, neither she nor her husband had graced the castle with their visit. Anne smiled to herself. Of course, she would not be so pettifogging to inquire for the fate of each gallon of ale or demand from her seamstresses the precise report of the whereabouts of the unused piece of linen. And yet. The steward and the chamberlain of her household clearly needed a reminder that though she was a noble lady and even a royalty it didn't imply her ignorance of the four rules of arithmetic. In future let them be more careful in concealing their small sins and especially more foreseeing before they would make up their mind to steal on a vast scale. Surely, her fortune combined with the wealth of her husband was large enough to allow them to support a legion of dishonest stewards. However, as Thomas once remarked, money had a damnable habit of disappearing precisely at the moment when you terribly needed them. Unfortunately, many members of the nobility seemed to forget that wisdom.

Having finished with financial affairs, Anne reached for another pile of papers where she had put private petitions to the King and his first minister. Recently she took it as a rule to read at least the part of this unceasing correspondence and thus facilitate the work of her husband on whose shoulders laid such a burden of concerns besides. Oh, my God, how many stories she had learned over this time, how many events, sometimes funny, sometimes tragic, had passed before her eyes. People from all over the country practically of all classes of society confided to her the details of their lives in the last desperate attempt to improve their being or find justice. In spite of the seeming realization of her usefulness this job didn't give Anne a satisfaction, probably because she felt the insignificance of those efforts. She understood that for each poor man who had got help in his misfortunes one could easily find a couple of his less lucky fellows. Well, apparently, God had decided to create this world in such a way that it would not exist without cruelty and injustice. Anne shook her head as if sending away those gloomy thoughts. No, today she would not deal with such matters, all the same, she would be of little use in her present weary state. She returned the pile to its former place and after arranging everything for tomorrow work, got up from the desk.

At the fourth month her pregnancy already made itself felt. The body grew heavy and so every move she previously had made on instinct now required all her attention and carefulness. Sometimes, especially in the morning, lying in bed or examining her reflection in the looking-glass, Anne felt repulsion towards herself. She almost hated the woman looking at her from the mirror, fat, clumsy, with dark circles under her eyes. But then her maids came in, bringing the bouquets of fresh flowers. They drew aside the long window curtains, letting in the sunlight, and in hour or so Her Grace, properly dressed and brushed, entered the main hall of her London house. The new day began. And when the sun finished running in the sky and all home cares also came to an end, Anne sat down in the armchair at the window and started waiting. From the outside it seemed that she was just enjoying a rest. In reality at that moment she tried to comprehend the miracle she herself had caused, the miracle of creation a new life.

Anne opened the window, letting in the evening chill. Alas, the room immediately was filled with dust and disgusting urban smells. Lately the atmosphere in London had become unbearable for her sensitive feelings. Very often she discussed with her husband the necessity of her leaving for one of their country residences, but those talks came to nothing so far. Every time there appeared a new obstacle preventing her departure. Anne herself as the main argument against her travel raised a question of safety of that journey in her present condition. But inwardly she knew the actual reason of her delay. Thomas couldn't accompany her because the circumstances demanded his presence at the royal court, near the king's person. The only thing he could afford was to visit her at Hever from time to time. Although it had been half a year since their wedding, they had not parted with each other for more than a day and Anne dreaded the thought of a long separation. "What nonsense, - she chided herself. – You behave like a teenager girl. The man cannot be tied to his wife's skirts forever. And you need the change of climate until the worst happens. Remember, how many women suffered a miscarriage or delivery of a still-born child? All that because they didn't care about themselves, about their health. How can you risk the life of your own child just for the sake of absurd selfishness?" Her reasonable self immediately agreed with those arguments but another, irrational part of her took the challenge, inventing thousand silly excuses until, weakened by that struggle, Anne made a final decision – to postpone her departure just for a few days.

Today was not an exception. Trying to collect her thoughts and turn them to the right direction, Anne took the book which had been presented to her by one Richard Jonas, a royal physician. A year ago he had arrived at this country as a member of her entourage and remained at court. His work was called "The Birth of Mankind" and, according to its author, was the first writing about the art of midwifery in the history of Europe. Just what she needed at the moment. Anne had already read it, making her way through the labyrinth of unknown Latin terminology. But as it turned out several times, she had missed one or another important detail. So she opened the book and started reading. However, very soon the letters began to dim before her eyes and eventually the scholarly work found itself on the floor.

* * *

She was back to reality by the familiar sensation of tenderness and surprise she always felt when her husband's lips touched hers. Still half-asleep, she returned a kiss and, inclining forward, embraced his neck. After several minutes of immovable silence she opened her eyes. "It seems, I've fallen asleep and didn't hear you coming", - she said as if apologetically. "You should long be in bed. Do you know what time is it now?" – In vain he made his voice sound stern, his eyes betrayed him. Anne smiled and parried a blow. "Then what about you?" – She asked teasingly and stroked his hair. "I wonder who of us is expecting a child," – Thomas placed himself with a more comfort near his wife's chair and put his palms on her stout belly. "Well, what shall we do with our Mummy?" – He asked with the most serious expression on his face. – "Does not listen to the good advice, does not spare herself, does not care about herself. Tell me, how we shall influence her?" "How disobedient our Mummy is", - Anne admitted, the whole look of hers showed humility and repentance. Finally, not standing it any longer, they burst out laughing.

Eventually, Thomas rose to his feet, made a few steps in the room and suddenly stumbled over something heavy. Restraining a curse ready to escape him, he picked up that "something" and brought it closer to his eyes. Even in the semi-darkness he recognized that object. "This book again?" – He asked, carefully putting it on the shelf. – "I thought, you have already learned it by heart". "Not yet", - Anne answered. – "Besides, it's useful at insomnia. Helps to go to sleep". Thomas grinned. Good that the respectable writer didn't listen to this talk. "By the way, Kathryn also has got this book", - he heard. – "Apparently, Mister Jonas presented a copy to both of us". "_Very clever on his part_", - he thought and said aloud. – "Do you mean the queen?" "Whom else?" – Anne got up from her chair at last and went to the bedchamber. Soon her voice was heard from that room: "When I came to see her yesterday, she was just reading it with a curiosity". "Well, it seems she is not in a great need of it so far", - Thomas followed his wife, undoing his doublet while going. – "Unless for general education". For some time they both kept silence occupied by the difficult task of delivering themselves from the various pieces of their toilet. Of course, it would be better to use the help of the servants, but neither husband nor wife wanted to spoil the intimate atmosphere by the presence of other people even if familiar to them. Finally Anne broke the silence. "I think, you don't like her very much", - she remarked examining her ribbon.

Further explanations were not required. Thomas was well aware of whom his wife was speaking. Lady Katherine Howard, a child-queen, whose name had been the cause of incessant talks in the country and abroad for the whole year already. When the aging monarch decided to get rid of his fourth spouse, it evoked predictable reaction among his subjects and fellow princes. They said that the King of France raised his eyes to heavens and sighed deeply after hearing the news of Henry's divorce and the Holy Roman Emperor Charles allowed himself to make a witticism too bold to reproduce it in a diplomatic message. Anyway surprise was definitely not one of the most prevailing emotions in this case. But the next choice of His Majesty astounded everybody. Of course, Lady Katherine belonged to one of the noblest families in the realm but she herself seemed to be a black sheep in the honorable Howards clan. Nothing in her life foretold her sudden rise to prominence. Having lost her parents in an early age, she found herself in the custody of the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk with whose estate at Lambeth the most of her childish memories were connected. Katherine didn't like to enlarge upon the details of her life under the care of a noble relative. Only once or twice she mentioned, in her usual giggling manner, that they ran a little wild there. Whatever those words meant, one thing was clear – her upbringing didn't prepare her for her present standing and duties. As for His Majesty, this marriage didn't bring him either the important political alliance, or the powerful family connections abroad, or at least a rich dowry. Instead of all these advantages he had got as a consort a young flippant person whose frivolous manners and thoughtless remarks regularly became the subject of the reports of the foreign ambassadors to their sovereigns. Lord Cromwell was informed about the context of their dispatches better than anybody else. The service of the perusal of the diplomatic correspondence functioned very efficiently indeed.

However, he chose not to share these thoughts with the wife waiting for his answer. Instead he said diplomatically: "More importantly that the king likes her". Anne smiled. "Confess me, you still can't put up with a thought that it's not you chose a wife for his majesty". She playfully ran a finger over his temple wishing to drive away any troubles from his mind. He smiled back at her. "What's more surprising is that you obviously like her. Who could guess that you would become so close? You have absolutely nothing in common". "_Except the marriage to the one and the same man_", - they both added mentally. "Yes, I like her, - Anne agreed. – She is a pretty, jovial girl. She is easy to deal with". And you need not think what and how to speak, how your words would be interpreted, need not look for a double meaning of your companion's phrases. Katherine belonged to that kind of people who felt themselves at home in any company and preferred to play the leading part in whatever conversation took place. The others therefore were spared from the obligation to find a topic for a talk. The only task left for them was to make their remarks from time to time hoping that at least some of their words would be heard. Sometimes it was very suitable especially if you suffered from natural shyness and felt awkwardness in the presence of other people, unfamiliar or alien to you.

"Well, if you are such good friends, maybe you'll talk with her on occasion?" – Thomas suggested suddenly. – "Until it becomes too late. I feel you are the only person to whom she would listen". "Talk about what?" "About everything. Her behavior. How it looks from aside. What kind of thoughts may come to people' heads. How it affects the King's authority. Do you know what she has done today?" Anne sighed preparing to hear about another breach of etiquette by the light-minded Queen. "Rushed headlong into the Privy Council chamber crying: "Henry, I'd like to say something to you". Seymour near dropped his papers from surprise". Anne vividly imagined the picture. She would have given a lot to see the faces of estimable councilors at that moment. But in spite of understandable indignation at Her Majesty's misbehavior, they definitely didn't see one thing – the king was contended exactly with that sort of wife. He didn't want clever, independent women with their own opinion on political or religious matters, the queens who tried to overstep the boundaries of the role allotted for them. In their company he would always have been on the alert, because even the slightest attempt of his wife to express her views was perceived by him as a threat to his throne. Intuitively Anne guessed it in the first weeks of her short marriage to the king and was confirmed in her assumption during that famous, decisive talk with him later on. Henry was afraid of strong women. By cruel treatment of his first two wives he tried to overcome his fears. Kathryn on the other hand, silly, naïve, childishly rejoicing at every present or sign of attention, was a gift of fate for him. With her he could easily play the role of the real man, indulgently looking at his young wife's pranks, the role of a condescending protector.

"Yes, you are right. It amuses the king", - Thomas went on meanwhile as if seeing his wife's thoughts. – "So far. But who knows what will happen tomorrow? He may be tired of all this one day and then…" Significantly he didn't finish the phrase. "Then what?" – Anne asked anxiously because she knew the answer. Her husband stood up from bed and went to the window. "Well, - he replied looking at the darkness, - in this case he uses the tested scenario. Practically he has two of them for choice. And God as my witness, I shan't be able to endure it again. Not to mention that I'll have to ransack all dog-holes of Europe one more time in search for a new wife for him".

"What did you say?" – Her Grace furiously threw the ribbon she had been playing with and jumped to her feet. "That's what you think of my country! Dog-hole of Europe. Very well. Then who am I to you?" Great Lord Cromwell whose restraint and self-control had become proverbial at court started back from the window, hearing this tirade of the angry spouse. "My darling, what is it?" – He uttered in fright. – "I didn't mean you". "Then whom did you mean if not me?" "You got me wrong, please, listen, it is not so". But Anne was implacable. Three or four minutes passed before she turned to her husband who was putting his arms round her waist. She needed to give vent to her righteous anger. So in her kiss she put all the passion she was capable of. "Have I got the pardon?" – Thomas inquired. "I'll have to", - Anne sighed. – "Especially as you were right."

"Sometimes I think that you are unreal", - he confessed, lying in bed so near her. – "I am afraid to wake up one morning and realize that you are not here, that all of it was a dream." "Yes, it's true. I'm a ghost. I'm a product of your fantasies." – With these words she moved closer to him. "For a ghost you kiss very well", - he noticed several minutes later. She laughed. "It's a pity, we'll have to confine by it for the present." "Never mind. I'm a big boy already and can cope with this problem". "And what about me?" "For shame, Lady Anne. What kind of thoughts! Who could expect them from you?"

Of course, Anne was sly a little saying that. She enjoyed their moments of intimacy, but no less she loved the time when she was just lying with her husband in that strange state of mind when one part of her was sinking into a dream and another was still aware of everything going on around. In those moments, sensing the presence of the man she loved near her, feeling the warmth of his whole being, she experienced perhaps her most intense happiness.

Already starting to doze, Anne suddenly asked herself: "I wonder what Katherine wanted to say so important she needed to break the meeting of the Privy Council".

* * *

Henry Tudor was sitting alone in his chambers. It was rather late and he had tried to go to sleep several times but, being unable to lie still on the mattress, got up and began walking across the room. His state of mind demanded an activity. He could hardly wait a daybreak when he would mount a horse and ride at the head of his suite towards the rising sun. Just like then, in his youthful days, when he was able to spend twenty-four hours in the saddle and returning from hunt found strength for other pleasant pastimes. Hey, he was still young. His beloved, sweet Katherine gave him this half-forgotten feeling of the fullness of life. And indeed, he was rewarded for all his care for her. Now, the year after their wedding, she finally said to him that she was with child. And no matter that she chose the wrong time to share this joyous news with him, that his thoughts were occupied by quite different problems at that precise moment (damn those French with their bastard King!), that he was slightly irritated by her absolute lack of decorum. The words she gasped out when they left the council chamber were worth of it. With a great difficulty Henry managed to proceed with the meeting and not to start laughing triumphantly or doing another silly thing. And then during the evening he several times caught an anxious look of his personal servant, Thomas Culpepper, directing at him. Certainly, the groom worried what happened to His Majesty, what was the reason of his distraction. The boy is so loyal, so devoted to him. As it should be, of course. Well, tomorrow together with the whole country he will find out this reason. He, Henry, will order to inform all the ambassadors about it so they will notify their sovereigns, notify the whole world.

From now on nobody will dare question his manhood, his capacity to produce an issue. My God, if somebody had told him ten, no five years ago, that his abilities in those matters would be doubted, he would have sent a foreteller to an asylum. Because only a madman could imagine… Henry stopped himself. It goes without saying, there is no self-murderer who would decide to discuss the problems of the potency of his King aloud. But he is not a fool, he can guess what kinds of thoughts people may hide behind their deferential masks. Especially after that shameful, absurd incident with a German princess to whom the devil himself made him marry. Henry pursed his lips. He didn't like to recall that strange delusion which lasted half a year and which people wished to call his marriage. Of course, he found the way to be delivered from his unwanted wife, but damn it all, if he felt himself a winner. Instead of the expected feeling of satisfaction by the triumph of his will the king sensed that he was fooled, became a victim of a nasty trick. And by whom? By this German girl who looked like a meek creature from the outset, dare not utter a word, and by his minister, practically, his servant. Why only did he give his consent to their marriage, expose himself to universal ridicule? A month didn't pass since their wedding and the news about the pregnancy of the former Queen became known to everybody. To rack and ruin went his efforts to explain his failure entirely as a fault of his wife, her lack of beauty, her previous engagement, her, God knows, what else. It turned out that other people didn't consider her ugly at all and no pre-contract prevented her from finding herself in a delicate condition. Once Cromwell fucked her… Henry gritted his teeth in fury, recollecting again a humiliation he experienced having heard that his rejected wife was expecting a child from another man. With a great effort of will he fought back the desire to catch his Lord Privy Seal by the throat and beat him in such a way he had never beaten anybody, to strike him without stopping until his victim would faint. But even in the disarray of his mind Henry understood that such a behavior was not the best way to congratulate the man on his future fatherhood. So the king gave his secretary a forced smile and pronounced a few appropriate words. And then, left alone, he did his best to cope with the passions overwhelming him. Among these various emotions he suffered was the one feeling which, if Henry had desired to analyze his state more thoroughly, he would have defined in the first place. Envy.

But now, thank God, it's over. Gone the whispers behind his back, the knowing looks of ambassadors, humiliating feeling of his own failure. And how lucky it is that Queen discovered her pregnancy just now, when he is planning his progress to the Northern provinces. He has got an opportunity to make this journey more impressive, more memorable to everybody. He will take with him the foreign envoys, all the councilors, all the nobility of the kingdom. He will make even the humblest, the most insignificant subjects realize all grandeur and magnificence of his royal power and all horror of their unpardonable former crimes. Yes, this tour of the country will do what the royal guns and gallows were unable to achieve. It will annihilate the last traces of rebellious sentiments. And the culmination of these festivities and splendour will be the coronation of Queen Catherine performed at York with the observance of all ancient ceremonies.

Henry's thoughts came back to his today's conversation with Cromwell which took place, as usual, after the meeting of the Privy Council. They just discussed the details of this future journey when all of sudden the minister noticed that he'd better stay in London, for the departure of all royal councilors would leave the capital without any government. Henry rejected this idea on the ground that he will need his chancellor's service at the planned negotiations with the Scots. It was the truth, but only half of it. You need not be a prophet to foretell that the sojourn in the places once enveloped in flames of rebellion would not become the most pleasant event in the life of Master Secretary Cromwell. For if there was something that united the gentry and commons under the banner of disobedience and turned them into one frightful power which nearly shook the throne, it was their hatred towards his person and his reforms. Henry felt a malicious joy at the thought of the probable unpleasantness awaiting his faithful servant. The strength of his gloating even surprised him.

The Duke of Suffolk will also undertake this so called pilgrimage to the places of his former military deeds. Not because the King could not part with his loyal Charles or expected any services from him in near future. Despite their deference to the noble titles and ancient families, the populace of the North will hardly be able to show love towards the man by whose orders their friends and relatives had been sent to death just a few years ago. By contrast with this crying unpopularity of his two closest advisers he, Henry, will become the natural focus of everybody's admiration, the center of attention of the crowds. The people, the common folk love their King and will get a good chance to demonstrate their affection. He in his turn will show mercy and generosity which are expected from beloved monarch. Henry imagined vividly these scenes - kneeling crowds, asking forgiveness for their former great sins, he, delivering a speech of reconciliation, the universal enthusiasm and cries of joy after that. Amid these displays of rejoicing who should ask questions by whose orders really the mass executions were carried on, whose iron, merciless will pursued the policy of the Reform. Henry remembered very well the advices of one Italian writer whose book he once had read with such a great interest.

Of course, in his absence somebody should keep order in the capital. He will leave Edward Seymour here. Yes, it will be a good choice. Among different ambitious men clinging to Henry's throne the eldest brother of his late wife obviously was the most impatient. Well, let him show what he is capable to do. Because if, God forbid, there arises the question of regency, the Earl of Hertford as a closest relative of the young prince will be the most possible candidate. No, Henry stopped himself one more time. He is young enough to see as his dear Edward will come of age. There will be no guardians, no Lord Protectors. He himself will pass the crown to the firm hands of his matured son, just like he had got it from his father. And this new King Edward will have brothers, support of the throne and the future of the dynasty. The princes to whom Queen Katherine will give birth.


	2. Chapter 2

"What was discussed at the Council yesterday?" – Anne asked, taking one more piece of pie from the plate. The summer sun merrily made its way through the window curtains, illuminating the dining-room with a gentle lustre. Although it was still early, one could see that the day promised to be hot. In this bright light everything around you looked surprisingly joyful – goblets of Venetian glass, covers, polished to a shine and even the heavy massive furniture, made of good English oak. They all seemed to anticipate a new sunny day. And as if to give the picture the finishing touch for completeness, the room was filled with a pleasant aroma of a strange Turkish drink, poured into small cups. The beans of this orient delicacy recently had been presented to Lord Cromwell by one of his fellow merchants just returned from Istanbul. Judging by his words, once you tasted properly this divine beverage, you could never change it for anything else. Indeed, even a small amount of it proved to be sufficient to drive away tiredness and to keep up strength throughout the day. Lord Cromwell had already noted to himself not to forget ordering a new batch of these grains in time of his friend's next visit to the East.

"Well, as usual, - he said and put another, this time the last, cup back to the table. - Troubles at Calais. Skirmishes in the northern border. All as it is supposed to be". He thought for a second and, not resisting a temptation, poured himself a little more of this gift of infidels. "Troubles at Calais? – Anna looked up at him. - I hope it is nothing serious? I remember you said…" "No, no. It is not enough to cause hostilities. Although at the good will of both sides, everything is possible". Cromwell sighed. Not for the first time the minister noticed a persistent desire of his sovereign to seek his fortune on the battlefields again. Last winter, during the same complications on the continent Henry confessed to the chancellor Rich that he would have been obliged to king Francis for the opportunity to take a walk at the head of his army to Paris, or at least to the less significant French fortress. And in such sentiments the monarch was not alone. Many of his loyal subjects among the nobility also loved to carry away their thoughts to the days of Agincourt, dreaming to repeat the glorious deeds of their ancestors. On Mr. Cromwell's deepest conviction, of all the foolish ideas of this estate that one was the most dangerous. "But I still hope, - he said slowly, - his majesty will have senses not to get involved in a serious fight. For ten years I've been trying to keep this country from war. I wouldn't like to see my efforts becoming unavailing". "_Together with the desire to advance the cause of the Reformation_", - he thought sadly.

Anne smiled and, holding out her hand, put it on her husband's palm. "Of course, all shall be well, - she replied with conviction in her voice, - because the king still listens to his advisor". Involuntarily Thomas squeezed her fingers in his. "I hope so, - he answered. - In any case, at present his mind is completely occupied by this journey to the North. It long has been delayed, but now it will be fulfilled for certain and in the nearest future". Husband and wife exchanged glances. Of course, Anne only recently had become acquainted with the history of her new homeland, but she also heard about the sad events which had taken place in the northern counties a few years ago. "It will be a journey of reconciliation, - Thomas continued meanwhile. - And the king intends to organize it according to all rules. Apparently, it will be a grand occasion. Not his usual progress in the province, but something much more magnificent. He will do everything in his power to impress these destitute shepherds". And with a success, that's for sure. Among the indisputable merits of Henry Tudor the first place undoubtedly belonged to his ability to splurge. If he wished, he could easily charm and win the heart of anyone, blind him by the surface splendor of his dignity and his person, make him his faithful servant for life. Thomas Cromwell knew it from personal experience.

"Poor souls", - Anne responded to that vivid picture of a royal triumph with a strange compassion. "It will not be easy for them. Especially taking into account all expenses". Her husband glanced at her with a mixture of surprise and admiration. Indeed, who else would have bothered about such trifles as, for example, what it would cost the local dwellers to show hospitality to their unexpected and high-demanding visitors during several months? "Don't worry. As a reward they will get the opportunity to see with their own eyes his majesty, his ministers and dignitaries, all members of the royal family. In short, all national celebrities. Imagine what honor and privilege it is for them. When else in their lives would they have had such good fortune?" He resolutely placed an empty cup on the table. No, today he had drunk enough. "It's a pity that you cannot join the procession. In your present condition that's out of the question, of course". "Certainly, - Anne nodded. – I am not planning to go. In any case, I'm a private person now, so I guess my presence or absence anywhere is not of great importance". "You are wrong, Your Grace. You've become very popular among the people. They say that they have never had such a sweet, intelligent and charming queen. They would be glad to see you". Her ex-majesty shook her head incredulously. "How do you know what people say?" – She wondered. "Sometimes you ask very naive questions," – that was the answer.

However, in a moment there was no trace of that cheerful mood anymore, as if a cloud appearing all of a sudden had overshadowed the sunlight. "So, how long will this trip last?" – Anne asked carefully. Cromwell did not reply immediately, being absorbed in his own thoughts. Frankly speaking, he was not eager to be removed from his seat and undertake such a long journey, particularly tiresome in this time of year. Especially to this damned North. Once, on behalf of the Cardinal, he had made a couple of trips to those places and they had not produced a favorable impression on him, either the remote, half-civilized counties themselves, or his own acquaintances there. He was definitely not a champion of a simple, deprived of the progress's achievements existence. However, it had been long ago, in another life. He had several of them, his lives, and sometimes he felt that each one had been lived by completely different, dissimilar people. "I'm sorry, I've been distracted, - he said at last, sensing his wife's alarming look at him. – Asking, how much time it will take me? Well, a month or two, I suppose". "A month or two", - she repeated, still tense. "Yes, thereabouts. It depends on the way we will negotiate with the Scots". "I understand", - Anne dropped her eyes down as though she suddenly had become very interested in the pattern on a table-cloth. Then, plucking up her spirits, she looked up: "Are you obliged to go there? Can't you better stay at home?"

There was something disturbing in the tone of her voice, as if she wanted to hide the worry possessing her behind a feigned indifference. Thomas tried to put as much softness in his answer as he could. "You know, I am not excited by the prospect of this travel myself. I feel that I should be here, with you. But it is impossible. Yesterday I talked with the king on this subject. But he is adamant. It's because of our negotiations with James of Scots. They are very important to us". "Yes, I see. – Anne pronounced slowly. - Of course, just…" She paused. Her husband watched her with concern in his eyes. He wanted to add something to his explanation, but she outstripped him. "Oh, my God, - she gasped as if getting rid of the vision - of course. Of course, you must go. Your place is there, where the fates of the state are settled, not here, in my bed". From agitation her eyes became filled with tears. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on with me. I look like a fool. I always fear of, I don't know what. I am afraid that something might happen to you or to me or to both of us. It's all my pregnancy". Thomas rose from his chair and, having rounded the table, came to her. "I've become so weak, - she whispered leaning towards him and feeling his hand gently caressing her back. – So fearful. I hate myself for that". He embraced her and kissed her neck. "My wife is the bravest, the strongest, the most fearless woman in the world. It's not just a compliment. I know of what you are actually capable".

She smiled. "I get strength in your presence. You are its source". He shook his head in disbelief. "Just promise me, - she went on, - that you will return when my time comes. I don't know, perhaps I'm the only one like that, but I'm sure I shall be less afraid of pain knowing that you are beside me". "Anna, - he knelt before her and touched her chin, turning her face to him, - my love. What are you talking about? Of course, I'll be with you. Even if half the counties are threatened by papist rebellion and the others - by the Spanish invasion. Even if the king is about to execute me. I will be with you at this hour". "God spare us, what you are saying", - she was horrified. "Not for a moment you should doubt that. But we still have five months, don't we?" Anne nodded, smiling apologetically.

A slight cough made them both turn towards the door. The Lord Privy Seal's personal servant, a young man of eighteen, impeccably neat and elegant, stood at the threshold. There was a case for documents in his hands and expression of utter imperturbability on his face. The bow he addressed Their Graces was performed in the best court traditions. Like a guilty schoolboy, his master started back from a wife's chair and, getting up to his feet, uttered in unnaturally cheerful tone: "Oh, William, good morning. Well, what do we have now?" "_Damn you_, - he cursed mentally, - _I wonder how long has he stayed there_". "Today's dispatches, as you requested, sir". With the best will in the world you can't notice a hint of personal feelings in his calm, business-like voice. "Excellent. Now order my coach to be driven up, I am leaving". "Yes, my lord. Your Grace". The youth made two bows, a smaller one to Lord Cromwell, a deeper one – to a lady and went out of the dining-room. The spouses looked at each other guiltily as though they had just been caught at doing something impermissible.

"What are you going to do today?" – Thomas asked, cursorily looking through the papers. He still could not get rid of the embarrassment. He did not like to display his personal life for everybody's survey. It felt like revealing a breach in the fortress's wall through which the enemies could rush at any moment. Of course, Will was just like a member of the family. Nevertheless, old habits are so difficult to be overcome. "Elizabeth and I have planned certain things, - Anne said, referring to the wife of her new stepson, Gregory. – We shall devastate merchants' shops and our purses. It is in the morning. Then I have some work to do. Many petitions still unread". Cromwell smiled knowingly: "My secretary". Feeling that Anna did not like his tone, he changed the intonation immediately and said sincerely: "Believe me, I greatly appreciate all you are doing for me. I'm deeply grateful to you. Only promise me not to overwork. These rural gentry with their quarrels over inheritance can wait, after all. Until our child is born". He was just going to give his wife a goodbye kiss when it was resounded behind his back: "The coach is ready, sir". William stood at the doorway, absolutely unruffled.

"Happy day to you," - Anna wished. "And good luck," - she added silently. Judging by the facts which had become half-opened to her during her short court life, her beloved man needed these parting words every time he went to serve His Majesty.

* * *

After the midday the sun still stood high in the sky, mercilessly sending its rays to the earth. Wishing to find a refuge from them, Lady Mary shielded her eyes with her hand. How tired she was of that heat, that stuffy air! Even a walk in the orchard brought no relief. On the contrary, it only strengthened the discomfort, considering the weight of the clothes she had to put on. She was always attentive to the choice of her wardrobe. Its every detail, every little thing ought to be carefully selected, ought to bear a special meaning. They all should have fit each other in a harmonious ensemble, destined to emphasize her high rank. Lady Mary could not allow herself and the others to forget about it. She could not afford to relax a bit, just for a moment to be herself, a girl of twenty-six, enjoying the sounds of a beautiful music or laughing merrily at she didn't know what. All the time she felt people closely observing her, paying attention to her every gesture, her every word. And perhaps at this minute thinking of her poor mother. She could not allow herself to disappoint them. Even if her companions were well-known, one may say, close to her, as, for example, Imperial ambassador Mr. Chapuys. In this case especially.

"_She looks so fragile in this long dress, so unprotected_", - Chapuys thought, contemplating a slender figure of the princess, who vainly tried to defend herself from the burning luminary. He compared her with an exotic flower, grown in the greenhouse and suddenly finding itself under the open sky. Devoid of a skillful gardener's care, it was doomed to a quick death in a brutal and relentless environment. However, the ambassador knew that this impression was misleading. Under the fragile surface there lurked a remarkably strong will and unyieldingness with which he had got not a single opportunity to come into contact. As for this seeming helplessness, it was neither more nor less than the armour, indispensable in her daily struggle with the dangers. This young girl was a brave warrior, no less fearless and resolute than the crusaders of the old times. Or these missionaries who nowadays undertook at their own risk the dangerous expeditions to unknown lands, showing their pagan inhabitants the path to salvation. Indeed, was her devotion to the true faith, her staunchness in the days of ordeal not worthy of admiration? For the ambassador of his Catholic Majesty the King of Spain and Holy Roman Emperor the eldest daughter of the English monarch represented everything that was pure and respectable, probably, the only proof that this country was not doomed to ultimate destruction.

"I am so glad to see you again, Your Excellency, - the Princess said with the absolute sincerity in her voice. – You are and always have been my most faithful and truest friend in this world. I can't bear a thought that you will ever leave me". Chapuys smiled sadly. "I'm afraid, my lady, that it may happen eventually. Day by day I sense my force weakens. This gout…" Catching anxiety in her eyes, he tried to turn everything into a joke: "However, I think before leaving for Spain I have time to tell you the last court gossips". They came to the bench, standing under a shadow of a branchy tree at the end of the garden alley. "Please, Excellency", - Mary pointed at it and her companion didn't make her ask him twice. With an obvious relief he sank into a cool seat. Now it was the princess's turn for a melancholy smile.

"Well, what about those gossips? – Marry decided to keep up the jocular tone of the conversation. – How many dresses did the queen order last week?" The ambassador smiled by the tip of his mouth, showing that he appreciated the witticism: "I think she needs plenty of them, taking into consideration the upcoming trip. This future journey is on everybody's lips. They say that royal embroiderers and upholsterers are working day and night on furniture and tapestries. Using copes and ornaments stripped from the churches, alas". For a moment the silence fell. The companions understood that there were some topics better not to be touched, topics too painful for them both. "How is my father? – Mary asked after a brief pause. – I suppose, he is also excited by these preparations". "No doubt, - Chapuys nodded. – I haven't seen his majesty in such high spirits for a long time. He has recovered from his recent illness completely and now once again shows his subjects an example of joy and zest for life. The only thing that darkens his mood is your absence at court".

Mary glanced at her interlocutor with surprise. Father cannot enjoy life fully because he doesn't see her at court? It was something new. "Yes, madam, - the envoy confirmed. – I suppose, as your old friend I am permitted to speak frankly. You should go more frequently to where your rightful place is. Where there are those who care about your fate. On whom you can rely in case of need. Here in this rural solitude, you will not find allies". Mary fixed her gaze on the horizon. "I shall appear at court when I'm commanded to do so by the king, my father. Not a minute earlier, Your Excellency", - she said calmly, but firmly. Chapuys sighed. Mother of Christ, why is she so stubborn, so intransigent? He admired her for that and yet these very traits of her character were the source of his chagrin. No, Lady Mary will have to understand the necessity of compromise, the inevitability of concessions, without which no policy could be made. If in future she is destined to collide with it.

"Frankness for frankness, Excellency, - the Princess continued meantime. – Recently the court has lost its attractiveness for me. I guess you know the reason". She paused, still staring into the distance. Then, turning her eyes to her companion, she added emphatically: "I know I should not say those words. And I shall not tell them to anybody. Except you. I do not consider this woman a lawful wife of my father. Let alone the Queen". "_As I have expected_, - the ambassador thought with sorrow. –_There is nothing to be done with that"_. "Lady Anne of Cleves – she is his true wife in the eyes of God. And all honest people. He should not have treated her in such manner so that to marry that…" That slut, she wanted to say, but failed. There were some words which Lady Mary could not pronounce aloud. In any case, it didn't matter. She could be understood perfectly well without them.

"Lady Anne of Cleves? – Chapuys was surprised. – But didn't she…" "Yes, of course, - Mary interrupted him. – I know she agreed to give up her standing as a consort and even remarried". "_Very soon after that_", - she could not help but add inwardly. "And yet, my lord. I think we are of the same opinion concerning the divorce", - the princess finished sadly.

"Nevertheless, my lady, - Chapuys tried to give his intonation as much persuasiveness as possible, - you must reconcile yourself with his majesty's decision and maintain good relations with his new wife, at least outwardly. Especially now". He saw that she was going to object and, aiming to deprive her of this opportunity, finally laid out his main tidings: "Especially now when she is expecting a child".

In spite of her regal composure, Mary could not help but wince at hearing this, as a matter of fact, very natural news. "Catherine Howard is pregnant, - she stressed the point. – Oh, I see, it's the part of court rumours. Some maid couldn't resist gossiping, could she?" "No, madam, - the ambassador shook his head. – It's not a speculation. I've already sent a dispatch to my Prince about this joyous news. By his majesty's special command". And after that I came to inform you, he wanted to tell. He had long stopped seeing anything strange in this dual loyalty.

"_So, it's true_, - Mary thought. – _Father would never decide to inform the foreign courts if he was not absolutely sure. She is with child_". She didn't expect to be overjoyed by this event. All the same, she had not thought that it would bring her such sorrow. "Well, - she said aloud. – This is really good news. I don't doubt the king is very happy. Especially if she produced a son". The tone of her voice showed that she didn't share her father's joy.

"Naturally, - Chapuys admitted. – I think the Queen's pregnancy is the chief reason of his high spirits. They say, as a reward he is going to crown her at York according to all ancient rituals. It will be the main part of all future ceremonies".

Mary could not help but sigh. She was so looking forward to this journey, so craving to find herself among those who, as she knew, remained faithful to everything sacred for her. Now this pleasure threatened to be spoiled by the festivities in honor of her rival. Of course, the Princess reminded herself, despite everything Catherine was officially the first lady in the realm. It was only natural that all attention would be paid first and foremost to her, the Queen. "The queen", - Mary grinned. This girl doesn't know _the meaning_ of this word. And nevertheless she managed to perform her main female duty.

Chapuys watched her mental struggle attentively. One didn't need to possess a special insight to guess about the feelings she was attempting to conceal. He gave her time to calm down. He hadn't put all his cards on the table yet. "This coronation is also necessary to strengthen the position of the Queen and her son, if she has any". "Of course, - the Princess nodded. – The birth of the Duke of York will ensure the future of the dynasty". "On the other hand, - the ambassador remarked thoughtfully, - it may as well complicate the question of succession. Who knows, perhaps it will result in new dynastic conflicts, as it already happened in the past". Mary looked at him in astonishment. "Dynastic conflicts? You wanted to say… But how is it possible? Surely Edward is first in line? Who could doubt his rights? Certainly, not his younger brother. Or have I misunderstood something?"

Chapuys didn't answer her immediately. He weighed carefully the words he intended to pronounce next. "The matter is, my lady, that certain people at court, whose names I can't tell you, confessed me that they have a scruple of conscience concerning Prince Edward's priority. They say that his claims can be questioned due to the fact that his mother, Queen Jane, was never ever formally crowned. Unlike your mother, God rest her soul". The last phrase he stressed purposely. Your mother was crowned, Edward's – not. Mary was stunned. Such thoughts had never crossed her mind and she needed time to ponder over them. The ambassador said nothing more. She would come to the right conclusions herself.

"Therefore, this coronation at York is so important to my father, - Mary mused upon it aloud. – But if Katherine does not bear a son…" "In this case, among the Tudors one could find another pretenders to the throne", - her companion finished the sentence.

Personally Chapuys didn't believe for a moment his own words in regard to disputable priority of the King's only son. All Europe saw in this child Henry's legitimate heir. After all his marital tribulations, all endeavours to secure the continuity of the dynasty the king finally got a long wished confirmation of his manhood. The son, born in unquestionably lawful marriage. In wedlock, deprived of such complicated details as, for example, the existence of the living wife of a happy bridegroom. But how else could he hint to this girl that one day she would take the highest position in this country, without opening her eyes to the brutal truth? Namely, the Tudors lineage could not boast of healthy male offspring. Chapuys once dared to voice to the king his observations that, probably, God wanted to see a woman on the English throne. These words nearly cost him an alliance with Henry. Nevertheless, they were not just remarks, accidentally pronounced, exaggerations, permissible in a diplomatic dispute. The more he reflected upon the sad events taking place here in recent decades, upon all the miscarriages, still-born childs, deaths of the princes in an early age, the more convinced he became of his supposition. He didn't believe in coincidence. Yes, a woman was destined to ascend this throne. The Queen, who will glorify the country. And who would fit this role better than this fragile-looking girl with the heart of a warrior and a soul devoted to God and his Church? With the blood of great Isabella of Castile in her veins? Who made no secret of her veneration for everything connected with her mother and maternal homeland? Surely, given a free hand, she will make the right choice. For her and her kingdom.

"_However, I let my thoughts carry me away very far_", - Chapuys reproached himself. Not knowing about the fate awaiting her, the eldest daughter of King Henry sat on the bench in perplexity. Wishing to strengthen her will, the ambassador used the arguments decisive for her: "Many people in this country and especially at court, whose trust I have the privilege to enjoy, have assured me how they pray, pray not only for the overthrow of vile reformers, but for the day when Your Grace succeeds to the throne. For how else will this country be restored to faith?" A sparkle flashed in Mary's eyes. "Only if God wills it, Excellency", - she said, her voice hardly concealing excitement.

* * *

(At first, I intended to publish this and the next chapters as one post. But then I saw it would be lengthy and difficult for perception. So I update this the so called "first part" now, chapter 3 is in a week. Hope you don't mind.

And one more word. It's AU based solely on the show and show only, which I write for pure entertainment. But sometimes I allow myself to use some reference to history. For example, Cromwell's anti-war sentiments are not very modernized, on my opinion. Judging by the text of his historical prototype's first speech in parliament. I didn't mention them without purpose).


	3. Chapter 3

(Thank you again, those who was so kind to read and review this story. I am sorry that I haven't updated earlier as I promised, I was busy at work. I'm also a little unsure about the Katherine's part of the chapter, but in my defence, some chaos in her thoughts reflects the character of this girl. And, lynn422, I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you).

* * *

She felt her fingers tremble and put a prayer-book aside. In this semi-darkness her apartments resembled a nun's cell, the silence of which was not disturbed by any signs of the outer world. A reliable refuge from storms and tribulations. The possibility to get even if for a short while an illusion of stability and assurance of her existence, to forget about life outside it, the life, full of dangers, cruelties and disappointments. In her incomplete twenty-seven Lady Mary fully tasted the bitterness of this life.

Today, however, a familiar atmosphere of comfort and peace was powerless to help her cope with the storm of conflicting emotions that had mastered her soul after a conversation with Imperial ambassador. It was already an hour since Mr. Chapuys took his leave and she still could not come to herself from the words she had heard. She was struck not only by what he had said to her, but by the very fact of this talk, the implication which, as they both knew, laid behind a few remarks, uttered as if accidentally, alongside with the other phrases. No wonder that for the first time in her life her feelings refused to obey her will.

Of course, Mary knew before, knew always that she was a legitimate daughter of the king, her father, his eldest daughter, and no absurd parliamentary legislation could bereave her of this sense of greatness of her origin. She felt it in her blood, like the other people feel the calling for music, or painting, or feats of arms. But one thing is to know it herself, hide in the depths of her soul the memories of times when she was the only, uncontested heir of her father's crown, and quite another is to hear about it from somebody else. And not just from occasional supporter who wanted to alleviate her sufferings by this manifestation of sympathy. Because, if Mr. Chapuys found it possible to express these thoughts aloud, he's not the only one who shares them. Hence, her cousin, the emperor, thinks the same. And maybe, other European sovereigns too. And those in England, whose names the ambassador did not dare to reveal, those who pray for her accession to the throne. And indeed, what else is left for them, bearing in mind all the atrocities perpetrated here? Hence, they don't see her an apostate, who voluntary renounced her rights in exchange for an unstable feeling of security?

Because Mary _was _an apostate, and no prayers and other displays of the pious life could undo that fact, erase it from memory. "Remember who you are, - her mother's voice still rang in her ears. - You are a descendant of Ferdinand and Isabella of Castile. You are the only daughter of the King of England. Be strong, my daughter. Strong and honest. And one day you will be Queen". She was too young then to understand the meaning of those words. She saw it as a natural thing that she had her own court, that all noble ladies and gentlemen showed their obeisance to her, a little girl, that an every hour of her life was regulated by the special ritual. Truth be told, in those days they irked her a lot, those incomprehensible strict rules, invented, it seemed, only to restrict her freedom. But when she grew up enough to start understanding, the nightmare began.

Oddly though it was, not a period of a short-term triumph of the father's mistress Anne Boleyn was the most painful of all her memories from that time. Because even in the darkest days, when, as she thought then, there was no hope anymore, when everything combined to humiliate her, to break her down, she didn't feel weakness. She got strength from the realization of the rightness of her cause, from her mother's example, from a silent support of remaining friends. She still remembered with pleasure her only meeting with the concubine when that woman arrived at Hatfield to win her friendship. How pitiable those attempts were! Did she really think that a few non-essential words and a false smile would be enough to make Mary forget everything? With what satisfaction the princess threw in the face of that upstart, no, not insults, she could not allow herself to fall so low. Her contempt. She made that woman understand that she would never become queen, a real queen, no matter, how much honors father in his blindness bestowed upon her. And Boleyn felt it. She, a girl of seventeen, bereft of everything, won that battle.

Of course, her heart still smarted from pain of the most terrible loss. The suffering aggravated because she hadn't said goodbye to her mother before her death. But Mary did not see her loss irreparable. After all, they were destined to meet there, in another life. Then they will have an eternity to talk. Talk about everything they had no time to say to each other before. Sometimes, lying sleepless at night, the princess dreamed about that meeting in a world without misery. She knew that mother would be proud of her, for she exactly followed her advices. At times it seemed to her that her sufferings were necessary to achieve that future happiness. She imagined herself a new martyr, like the first Christians. Of course, nobody threw her in a cage with lions, but weren't mental torments and adversities less worthy of recompense than physical pain? And she was proud of herself.

But then, one day, all of it ended. It ended when she took a pen in her hand and signed, without reading it, that awful paper. Only a few letters divided her life in two parts. She crossed out her mother's efforts to save their royal status, renounced her own beliefs and principles, jeopardized the salvation of her soul. Mary could persuade herself to her heart's content that this step was necessary, that declaration made under duress meant nothing, that she needed this subterfuge so that in good time, gaining strength, to take a revenge on her enemies. All these justifications were nothing but the miserable evasions of her troubled conscience. At heart, she knew the reason for this step. She signed the oath of allegiance to the reformist church and the whole new order of things, because she was afraid. Because she realized that nobody would come to her rescue. She was afraid of her own father, the man who had given her life and now threatened to take it away. Mary was not made of the clay of martyrs. She had not stood the test. And now she was not sure that mother would be proud to meet her there, beyond the threshold of death. She, Mary, betrayed her.

However, today a light of hope began to gleam before her. Maybe, she will have a chance to atone her fault, to prove that this first sign of weakness was the last and the only one? Maybe, her ordeals were not useless, maybe the fate was preparing her for something great? Oh, if she could reestablish the world which had existed at time of her happy childhood, which had existed always! If she would manage to mend the harm done to her country by these evil people who surrounded the king's throne, who cared only about their own benefit and used her father's credulity without a twinge of conscience. She would not spare either her health, or even her own life for the sake of such good purpose. She would show to everybody that she was a true daughter of Catherine of Aragon, a real descendant of great Spanish kings!

But no, it's impossible. There exists her brother, her dear Edward, to whom not for the world she would wish harm. And whatever Mr. Chapuys said, royal sons will always have an advantage. Boys are more important than girls. Besides, there is that supposed heir, that prince whom Katherine carries in her womb. Even if the claims of Jane's son could be challenged, then only by his brother, standing next in line. However, all of a sudden it occurred to Mary, who said that this prince would be born at all? Where, in what book of prophecies had been written that Lady Howard was destined to fulfill the task her much more worthy predecessors had failed? She might as well give birth to a girl, to another unwanted princess, or not to carry a baby to term. After all, such cases occur quite often.

Suddenly Mary realized that she wanted it to happen exactly this way, almost prayed for it. No, she should not think so! She should not wish such misfortune to another woman, even though she despises her with her heart and soul. And yet. If she was told that the queen had experienced some, for example, a miscarriage or something of that kind, would she truly be upset? Or if there emerges some new circumstances, some revelations, showing the unworthiness of Katherine's pretensions to the first place at court, if father becomes disappointed in her like in her cousin before, what would she, Mary, feel then? Pity for this poor creature, who has chosen a role beyond her power? Sense of female solidarity? Or, just like in Anne's case, a calm satisfaction from the final triumph of justice? Probably, she wouldn't be particularly surprised at all. She knew, something like that was supposed to take place. Eventually everyone gets his deserts. Oh, God, why doesn't father see the obvious thing, which all the rest but him can understand? This person disgraces him, disgraces her dignity, her station! If Mary were close with him, perhaps she would venture to express her opinions and misgivings. No matter, sooner or later he will open his eyes.

If the princess were honest with herself, she would have to admit that Katherine was right, saying that the stepdaughter was jealous of her younger stepmother. But not because one woman still remained unmarried while the other had made the most successful match the girl could dream of. The matter was that the young queen was allowed to keep something which the royal daughter had lost long ago – a childish ingenuousness. Katherine was allowed to behave in such a way which had been unthinkable for Mary since the day she had remembered herself. And more importantly, the king, having said to his daughter a few welcoming words at their meeting, considered his paternal duty to be fulfilled and returned to his interrupted entertainments with a pretty jovial wife. However, Mary would never dare to admit it.

She took the prayer-book again and opened it on the same page. She asked Lord to show her the path to the truth, to help her soul find clarity and tranquility. She prayed to be spared from the thoughts which, she knew, she shouldn't entertain.

* * *

The sun had just gone down the horizon, but the earth, heated over the day, slowly parted with its warmth. It seemed the nature itself remained in that relaxed state of pacification and sweet bliss, awaiting the inevitable meeting with the night's darkness. In the sky, still lit by the last rays of the setting luminary, one could already distinguish the contours of the first stars. Lying on her large comfortable bed, Katherine watched that struggle between day and night. Soon the moon would rise. "The moon is the planet of love", - the words of Lady Rochford came to her mind. She slowly stretched herself. The only movement she was capable of. Yes, the queen was absolutely tired, completely and utterly exhausted by the various impressions, experienced throughout a day. But it was not an agonizing weariness, accumulated as a result of the heavy and monotonous work, a strain of all the muscles and nerves, but an easy languor, which brought to life pleasant dreams and memories of enjoyments. Kathryn smiled at these thoughts, flashing through her mind. It would be nice to take a bath, she decided, to sink into this blissful coolness with all her being and lie, lie in it the whole eternity, not thinking about anything, just feeling her skin coming into contact with the soft waves of cold water. No, it would be better to warm up the water and then watch as it slowly cools down while passing its heat to her. Yes, it would be a wonderful ending of the day.

The queen was already going to call her maids and order them to prepare her bath-tub, but then changed her mind. The bathing should be abandoned for a short while, for her monthly courses resumed today, damn them. She made a discontented grimace at the thought of this single evidence of her feminine nature which she hated. Well, as in previous cases, the alarm was false. "Alarm? – Katherine almost laughed aloud. – Wake up, Kathryn, you are not in Lambeth anymore. You are a married woman now, you are _supposed_ to conceive a child. Nobody would be surprised at it". She looked around in her gorgeous room, as if desiring to get an additional assurance of her new status.

Sometimes she didn't believe the reality of what had happened to her. It resembled a fairy tale about beautiful princesses and brave knights, which she loved to listen as a child. Indeed, who could believe that she, a little Kate, a poor orphan, would suddenly turn into, no, not a countess, not a duchess or some other grand lady, but the queen herself? And not in a fantastic, existing only in her dreams country, but in this earthly kingdom? It looked like a vision and nevertheless it had occurred in life. Frankly speaking, Katherine still was puzzled what had been so special in her that had attracted the attention of his majesty and before him - the other important gentlemen. Such as Sir Francis Bryan, who once came to visit her aunt, the duchess, and passing through the suite of apartments where the young wards of her lordship were housed, suddenly fixed an intense gaze on her. She even dropped her eyes under his appraising stare, though really, she was not easily embarrassed by such signs of male attention. And then, when she had already moved to London and was ready to be presented to court, those noble lords who spoke to her, Suffolk and Seymour, clearly showed their keen interest. Otherwise, why would they have asked her these questions about her former life in Lambeth and so on if they were perfectly indifferent to her? But the chief prize was waiting for Katherine in future. The king himself expressed his desire to talk with her privately! Honestly, she did nothing, no special efforts to charm him. She behaved as always, without the slightest touch of worry or confusion, well, maybe a little touch. "Just be yourself", - those words my lord Seymour said to her before that audience. Well, she was successful, having listened to him.

All months which had flown since that memorable event seemed to her now as a long train of pleasures, following each other with a quick speed. She felt some invisible hands had caught her and carefully set in a boat, floating down the stream of some big river. And she gave herself up to this current, this unknown force, which carried her away to unexplored lands. She was not scared of what might await her at the end of this long journey, on the contrary, looked forward to new and exciting adventures. Life was beautiful, and for her it prepared wonderful surprises. Indeed, Katherine had nothing to complain. She found in a marriage everything a woman could only imagine - wealth, status, a husband eager to execute any of her whims.

She could not understand why other people were so afraid of Henry, literally trembled in front of him. With her he was so funny, laughed so merrily at her every silly joke. Although it appeared that she was the only one who could call him so, by name. Everyone else, even a long-standing friend of the king, His Grace Suffolk, always addressed him officially, by title. At least in her presence. But she, she was quite different. The king behaved with her in a special way, not like with all the rest, she felt it. He cherished her, carefully protected from any troubles and dangers. Just like a father, whom she had never had.

The king's wife was also quite a nice woman, though rumours had told otherwise. "His ex-wife, of course", - Kathryn chuckled, correcting herself. Just think, of all people in the world Lady Anne was supposed to be the first to hate her. Because whatever you say, she, Katherine, won over her husband, even if unwittingly. The meeting with her the young queen wanted to avoid at all costs. But what happened in reality? The former Princess of Cleves became the woman to whom Katherine now felt the greatest sympathy, her true friend, always so attentive and kind. And her new husband, Lord Cromwell, was also quite a nice gentleman. And indeed, here at court everybody treated her so well. With a few exceptions, not worthy to be mentioned.

Pity of course that Lady Anne won't be able to make her company at this future trip, which promised to be so interesting. Lord Cromwell told about it very definitely when Katherine touched this theme the other day. Yes, she understands everything, but really, it looks almost like a betrayal on their part. Because now, apart from her ladies, she'll have to enjoy the company of this bitch Mary. Well, she'll try to keep as much distance from her as possible and all shall be well. As for Lady Anne, they will get an opportunity to chatter a lot on her returning home. They'll have a plenty of gossips to share with each other after such a long separation.

The queen vividly imagined this future talk. She adored this little tittle-tattle about different things, knowing smiles, girlish giggles, this confidential tone, which she could afford not with everybody. However, there was something in her life she could not tell anyone, even Lady Anne. She was not sure that her companion would express approval after learning her secret.

Yes, Katherine had a secret, the only thought of which gave her a burning pleasure, a hundred times intensified by its very prohibition, impossibility, its unthinkable nature. This secret was called Thomas Culpepper. The king's groom, who had watched her so intently since her first day at court. Poor fool, had he really thought that she didn't notice anything? She even had to reproach him a little, for the sake of appearances, that it was improper to look at the queen in such a way and on the whole she was not the one of those to allow it. But it seemed that her reproofs only gave him courage. And how nice this Lady Rochford was that she found a way to arrange their meeting in private. It was a surprise for Katherine, this display of complaisance. At first she saw her principal lady-in-waiting as a strict serious woman who observed disapprovingly the frivolous pranks of her young mistress. But when it came to business, she showed herself!

Katherine smiled, recalling their first rendezvous. It was so innocent. Timid touches of hands, shy kisses, eyes downcast. She behaved like an inexperienced girl, as if she didn't know what he wanted from her. As if it was her first kiss. Averted her eyes away, fearfully flinched at his every caress. And on the second day she repeated the same. "Show that you love me", - he said finally. "Shall I kiss you?" – She asked timidly. "We have kissed before, Katherine sweet", - she heard what she expected to hear. It was a game, and both of them knew it. She skillfully inflamed his and her desire, slowly led it to the boiling-point so that later with the more intensity surrender to the power of passion. He understood it and didn't resist. He was an experienced lover, knowing that the dish had a better taste if you didn't swallow it at once. Katherine sensed his skillfulness at first glance by her unmistakable feminine instinct.

Yes, in her full eighteen years old, queen Katherine was an experienced woman in the matters of love, at least she thought so. She was unable to say with certainty when she first had felt that special male gaze, speaking without words about the desire to possess her, and realized its meaning. Perhaps, it happened when she was thirteen, with her sweet Manox. No, she was a child then, what could she understand? And he, he was too timid and hesitant, too indecisive; they would have done only worse if they decided to reach the finish. Francis, her dear Francis awoke a woman in her. He opened before her this world of sensual delights, taught her to understand the language of glances, touches, caresses and respond to it. For a time she was really in love with him. In her childlike imagination he was presented as almost perfect. She even mentioned something about marriage. Now she saw clearly, at that time she simply had nobody to compare with her first and single lover for that moment. She realized her mistake after finding herself at court, in the company of these pleasant gentlemen. Against a background of their brilliant gallantry her sweet Francis appeared as a provincial dilettante, an amateur among the professionals of the art of love. He became a part of her past.

As for the present, first of all there was her husband, whom she respected and esteemed, but in bed… Of course, she understood everything, his work of running the country, his various concerns left him little strength for pastime enjoyments. His health also made itself felt. Sometimes he didn't even answer her advances, pleading a fatigue. In any case, she knew that everything would be over before it really began for her. And now there also was Thomas. Perhaps, of all the men she had known so far, he was the only one who could satisfy her completely. Katherine had seen at last how she needed it. This sensation of absolute pleasure when their bodies became the part of the single unity and the enjoyment reached the culmination. Nothing in the world could compare with that.

Of course, the queen was aware that she was doing something not quite proper when meeting with another man behind her husband's back. It was not the kind of behavior expected from a respectable young lady. It was a risk, a huge risk and she knew perfectly well what a scandal would arise if somebody outside her small circle of trusted friends learned about these secret entertainments. She was not stupid, though several times she suspected some people thought about her this way. But what they didn't understand, all of them, this very risk and awareness of danger were the things which gave intensity to her pleasure. Under normal circumstances, she, probably, would be fed up with it very soon.

No, honestly speaking, Katherine didn't feel guilt towards her husband or anybody else because of these innocent amusements. Really, what harm would be done, especially as she knew how to meddle with a man without conceiving an unwanted child? The only thing that slightly worried her was why she had told Henry about this supposed pregnancy. Katherine still could not grasp the reason of her becoming so stupid. Why had she taken her usual delay for something more serious? Of course, the blame was laid on this foolish book of midwifery which she, usually not interested in such matters, decided to look through. Well, the result was visible. It's a pity, Henry was so happy having heard this news from her. Now he will be upset and she with him. No matter, she will just have to choose the right moment to excuse herself for this mistake. He will understand. After all, it was not her fault.

On her part, Katherine felt a relief, realizing that her motherhood was postponed for some period. She was not ready for it yet. Imagine, she would have to put on weight by leaps and bounds, experience nausea in the mornings, maybe, give up her favorite foods, let alone dancing and other pleasures of life. And then these terrible months of confinement, childbirth with all its horrors. My god, she could even die from it like the mother of prince Edward had died! No, that's an extreme, of course. Death takes place in another world, with the other people. How is it possible to believe in the reality of non-existence when you are only eighteen? But even if you don't think about it, there still remains the unsavoury fact of women' sufferings, preceding the emergence of a new life. Katherine wasn't willing to pay such a high price yet. Someday she will do her duty. But not now. Not at this moment.

The queen rolled to another side and, having stretched herself the last time, finally surrendered to sleep. She didn't see dreams. Nevertheless, her sleep was so deep that she did not hear the thunderstorm sounding outside her rooms the whole night.


	4. Chapter 4

The meeting of the Council drew to a close. Tired from the motionless sitting in a stuffy room, Henry leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes with one hand while making by the other a slight gesture in uncertain direction. This regal wave meant to show that, despite the temporary and quite understandable in present circumstances physical weakness, the monarch kept his attention and closely watched what's going on around. Oh my God, as the time went by, it became more and more difficult for him to stand these long-term gatherings, to see the same faces day by day, month by month, to listen to these profuse talks, where for a single grain of common sense there was a ton of undisguised, shameless flattery. The reason laid not in a physical fatigue which always came to him after these tiresome conferences, but more in some spiritual emptiness, previously unknown to him, but now showing itself with a frightened regularity. "_Is it really an old age?"_ – The king thought all of a sudden and became horrified at this assumption. After all, the old age is not only a bodily infirmity, but indifference to life, refusal to see the future waiting not for you, reluctance to make plans for tomorrow. The old age – it's when you can expect nothing but a slow decay, when you have no perspectives in life. But does any of it actually have something to do with him? No, a thousand times no! How could he only imagine it, even for a moment, especially now, when with God's blessing he prepares to manifest to the whole world a new evidence of his vitality? One more son, one more heir to his power and his accomplishments? Henry straightened in the chair and nodded his head, giving the Lord Privy Seal a sign to continue his report. Catching the royal permission, Cromwell resumed the narration of the complicated situation in the Scottish realm.

"_What an incredible boredom_", - Lord Surrey said inwardly, barely suppressing a yawn. Really, in France he spent his time more pleasantly. If it were his choice, he would have remained there, at the court of King Francis, in the country where the spirit of chivalry was still alive, where people could value the ancient families and see the difference between the old aristocracy and all sorts of upstarts, the persons without kith or kin. All those university men, lawyers and how else they're called, those gentlemen imagining God knows what about themselves. No, of course, he has nothing against classical education and even dabbles in poetry himself in his leisure hours. And he is quite able to understand the use of the clerks and accountants for the proper conduct of public affairs. On condition that these people know their place. That was the point. It seems that recently everything in this kingdom has turned upside down. How else can you explain the fact that a man of such an obscure stock as Cromwell dared to marry a royalty? If somebody from the Surrey's family allowed himself this impudence, he would immediately become the target of endless suspicions and unnatural speculations, including of course his undisputable plans of the king's overthrow, and nothing on earth would help him to restore his majesty's good graces. But this commoner, the man from nowhere, who cannot even explain clearly what kind of business his father was engaged in (no doubt, the criminal one!), he lies in bed with his prince's former spouse and surely doesn't see anything special in it. Or this Seymour, a mere esquire, if you call things by their own names, whose nearest kinsmen were happy to find a place in my lord Surrey's father's and grandfather's entourage, laid themselves out for a vague opportunity to benefit from this high patronage? By what right does he sit here with a look as though the crown already belongs to him? And his majesty, apparently, doesn't worry about it at all. He deliberately surrounds himself with all kinds of schemers, the mean creatures who only wait for the chance to destroy the nobility of this country. No matter, the time comes and they all will pay for their impertinence.

Lord Surrey slightly turned his head towards his neighbour, the Duke of Suffolk, as if looking for an approval of his thoughts from the only man at this court who didn't arouse his antipathy, in whom he agreed to recognize a kindred soul. Alas, his grace stared into space with a completely unemotional countenance and obviously refused to notice the glances casting at him. Well, maybe he is right, choosing not to open his mind in public, among these Machiavellian intriguers who don't scruple to use any means to achieve their dubious goals. But he, Henry Howard, is not the kind of man to reckon the carefulness among his virtues. For better or for worse, but his father, the aged Duke of Norfolk, found it necessary to interrupt his offspring's prolonged overseas voyage and summon him back to homeland. It means that the head of the family trusts the ability of his heir to push their interests in the best way possible. Now when the father decided to retire from public affairs and spend his remaining years on this earth in complete tranquility, it was the son's turn to show what he's capable of. And no doubt, he will do what's expected from him. He will not fail to defend the honour of the Howards. Not only that. He will surpass his ancestors' achievements. Finding consolation in these reflections on the family's greatness and glory, my lord Surrey threw the victorious look at Cromwell. Indeed, what does this upstart have to oppose him?

"_What does this pompous braggart want from me?"_ – Cromwell asked himself by one part of his mind, that very department of his mental organization which always remained responsive to the outer world while its master was preoccupied with a serious and responsible work or absorbed in prayer or just indulged in his reverie. – _Why is he staring at me as though I borrowed his money and don't pay back? Oh, yes, of course, his most gracious honour does his best to emphasize his damned honorable origin and contempt for all miserable creatures who can't trace their parentage to the days of the Battle of Hastings. Another noble ass on my head, as if I had little worries besides_". He allowed his inner self a slight ironical smile, not for a moment averting his attention from the sheets of paper where his best clerks' neat handwriting revealed the information about the balance of power at James Stuart's court. "According to our agents, a very influential party of Scottish lords, led by the king's favourite Oliver Sinclair, seeks to wreck the signing of a peace treaty and persuades their prince in every way possible to ignore the future meeting at York", - in spite of the content of the news told by him, the Lord Privy Seal's voice was calm and even, as usual.

"_Katherine should be very careful now_", - Henry pondered over something much more important to him at this time than all the intrigues of his idiotic nephew. Female nature is so weak and changeable, so easily taken by emotions. Any trifle would lead to irreparable. He has already told her not to excite herself, but his warnings seemed to produce a small effect. Oh, she is so young and careless! All the same, he will provide his queen the best treatment and care in her present condition, personally supervise over it. He can't afford the luxury of another loss of his child.

"Unfortunately, the impertinence of our enemies is largely nourished by the French gold and promises of military support in case the serious conflict arises". She must be examined by the medical men as soon as possible. Today he will send to her Dr. Butts together with that German, how was his name? That expert of midwifery. Let them give their much praised advices how her majesty should conduct herself at present, what food to take. And from now on, no dancing, no riding. Until the child is born. "On the other hand, we have our own advantages in this case. Because the venality of these nobles makes them responsive to our arguments if we manage to produce the convincing ones". Of course, she will be upset, but there is no help for it. The safety is in the first place now. And it's particularly important to ensure this safety during their future progress. Nothing must spoil this voyage. Oh, Katherine, Katherine! You will smite all the people around you by your beauty and youth. As it should be. The subjects must adore everything their king has. And envy him. Silently. From a distance.

"Your Majesty?" – Returning to reality, Henry realized that for several minutes he had been happily smiling at his Lord Privy Seal. Despite his court experience, Cromwell could not help but show a little embarrassment by this unusual attitude of his king towards his person. Tense silence fell. Feeling all the eyes at that room fixed on him, the king drove away an inappropriate expression from his face and, clearing his throat, said imperiously: "It's a good idea, Master Secretary. I order you to find out who of the Scottish lords are the most… hmm, communicative and instruct our emissaries there to have a friendly talk with them. Tête-à-tête. We would be glad to help our northern neighbours to improve their financial conditions". The minister slightly inclined his head in obedience. "As for our cousin, - Henry continued, - if he finds the military lessons given to him unsatisfactory, we will agree to extend his learning in this regard". The king made a brief pause. "But, apparently, he is not as stupid as he appears".

The councilors expressed their unanimous admiration at this witty remark of their sovereign, whose countenance by that moment had lost the last signs of weariness and distraction. Completely regaining his self-control, Henry now concentrated on a careful study of his advisers, their reaction at the things going on around them. In this game everything had its significance, bore a special message – momentary change of intonation, a barely visible turn of head from one dignitary to another, an accidental exclamation. And although everybody in this chamber was an expert of acting, perfectly mastered the art of concealing his true feelings, sometimes their sentiments broke through the diligently erected fortifications of court civility and mutual politeness. Exactly for these moments Henry summoned them together like spiders in a jar. Not because he wanted them to make a decision by joint efforts. After all, he was able to come to the right solution alone, well, maybe after a short consultation with Cromwell, required solely for receiving additional information. Of course, from time to time the king allowed his adviser to express his opinion on one or another issue, but it didn't imply the right of the minister to determine the royal political actions. Bitter experience of youth taught the monarch what it meant - carelessly transfer to another's hands something which is rightfully yours. The power.

However, in order to become a master in fact, not only by name, you should get perfect knowledge of everybody you are dealing with. And don't let them unite against you. It was another lesson the king learned during his long and eventful reign. "Divide et impera". Divide and rule. Kindle ambition of ones and envy of others. Create court factions and play them off against each other. Be unpredictable in your decisions and actions, because this very unpredictability bewilders people more than anything else. And under no circumstances let anyone have a reason to boast that he can read your mind.

Henry's glance traveled from one high-rank official to the other, choosing among these first persons of state the next victim on whom the king could test his psychological insight. Each man here had his own agenda, his own deeply hidden plans and expectations. Nobody cared for what he, Henry, thought or felt. Well, woe to anyone who imagines that he can impose his will on his sovereign!

"What do you think about it, my lord Seymour? – The king pronounced finally. – As a man knowing Scotland not by hearsay you can give us good advice how we should deal with our cousin James".

Hearing his name, the Earl of Hertford slightly leaned forward, demonstrating his attention and diligence. The question didn't catch him by surprise. Long ago his lordship had formulated his firm opinion on the Scottish problem. "You majesty, to my mind, the only thing that can help us in this case is the use of military force or, at least, its convincing demonstration. It is the only language these people can understand. As for the other arguments, mentioned by my Lord Privy Seal, whatever tempting they would be, we can't pin our hopes solely on them. For each handful of our gold the other party may find the opportunity and willingness to pay twice as much. This competition, once started, risks draining the Exchequer". Henry smiled at the tip of his lips. Taking it as an encouragement, Edward Seymour went on: "Personally I think that the radical solution of this problem will be dynastic alliance of the two houses, the Tudors and the Stuarts, and eventual union of our kingdoms under one and the same power. Exactly as it happened in Spain".

"_Edward has grown up for these past years_, - Cromwell reflected, observing the elegant figure of the uncle to the Prince of Wales. - _Considerably. Begins taking a broad view of things. Statesmanship's view. His rates are clearly increasing_". Aloud, however, he said something different: "Undoubtedly it would be the best outcome for us. Only little thing is left. How to achieve this? By following your recommendation we will hardly get a lot of friends in Scotland".

Lord Seymour felt himself a little offended by this reply and especially by the intonation with which it was pronounced. In the tone of the king's chief minister the earl caught a hint of condescension. Some sort of protection, showing by a teacher to one of his students, not without abilities, but still making mistakes. Involuntarily clenching his fists, Edward said: "Obviously, your lordship may offer us something else except bribes, handed out to the right and left. Oh, I'm sure you have already invented a brilliant plan how to bring our northern neighbours into submission to the royal will, by miracle turning wolves into lambs".

Sitting in his luxurious chair at the head of the table, Henry enjoyed each phrase of this dialogue. He only had not decided yet whose side to take at the end, to whom of his councilors show his royal favour. Perhaps today it will be Seymour. But he must skillfully parry the arguments of his opponent, otherwise his victory would be looked undeserved. Well, let's wait what they will be, these arguments.

"Let me reassure your majesty and you, my lords, - the king heard the calm voice of Cromwell. Only very trained ear could detect the traces of irony in it. – I don't have the intention to destroy the state, supporting those subjects of King James who can be useful to us. And believe me, when I pay for the goods, I always try to figure out their real value. After all, my merchant's past sometimes makes itself felt". At these words my Lord Surrey's eyebrows were raised in surprise, while the Duke of Suffolk made one of his characteristic contemptuous sneers. Lord Seymour's face still kept the expression of anger and resentment. "_However, it's time to_ _finish all of this,_ - Cromwell thought and said as soothingly as he was able to. – Alas, this is all I can suggest you at present, sire. Perhaps, in future the circumstances would change in more favourable way for us and we would get an opportunity to influence those affairs more directly. His grace the Earl of Hertford has made a very wise observation about the possible course of events. I absolutely agree with him". Having finished this short speech, he gave his colleague Seymour the most charming of his smiles.

Henry felt something like a disappointment at the turn this verbal skirmish had taken. As though he had expected something and was deceived in his hopes in the most flagrant manner. However, he didn't allow himself to indulge in introspection for too long. For the last word must belong to the king. Always.

"Thank you, gentlemen, - his majesty said, slightly bowing his head in direction of Edward. - My lord Seymour". The man to whom he was addressing had blossomed as if by magic from this sign of royal approval. "Anyway, - Henry's voice became harder, - one thing is certain. Behind all those hostile machinations there stood and stands only one power. France. They use the Scots every time we decide to inflict them a blow on the continent. Remind them of our ancient rights to the French crown. This is our first and the most persistent enemy. And the most coveted prize in any military campaign".

"_How they seek for the king's favour!_ – Lord Surrey thought sadly, watching the reaction of the Council's members to the latest words of the monarch. – _Almost lay themselves out. What kind of servility! Was it possible in the old days? At that time the word "honour" was not an empty phrase for knights. However, what am I thinking? How many people here can rightfully apply this title to themselves_?"

"Last year's events at Calais were just a preliminary exercise to test our resolve. – Starting his favourite topic, Henry already couldn't stop himself. – Now Francis formally proposes a marriage contract between his son, the Duke of Orleans, and Lady Mary". At the mention of his daughter's name the voice of the king softened a little. But not for long. Feeling indignation by the arrogance and duplicity of the French monarch, he emphatically added: "We cannot and must not trust the intentions of King Francis. Therefore we shall continue to look to our coastal defences and favour the Emperor".

The approval which this decision evoked was genuine, Henry didn't doubt it even for a minute. The champions of the French cause could not be found among his ministers since the days of Wolsey. When the ill-fated cardinal had lost in sequence his posts, then almost all his possessions and finally his life, the number of those eager to play dubious political games behind the king's back reduced significantly. The lesson did them good. Henry still would have recalled with pleasure the events, signifying the start of his independent ruling, if not for some unfortunate circumstances. Some uncomfortable memories of a strange obsession he had been suffering back then and the reason for which he still couldn't explain to himself. No matter. Eventually he intrepidly tore a fatal passion out of his heart. The time will pass and he will manage to drive out of his memory its last vestiges.

The king looked around his advisers, as though suspecting them of the ability to guess his secret thoughts. His gaze rested a little longer on my lord Surrey's face. Was he mistaken or did the earl actually express less enthusiasm, less willingness to follow his sovereign on his chosen path as it was befitted for a good vassal? He is a dark horse. What was he doing in France for such a long time? Practicing chivalry as he declares? As if it could not be done on his own good English soil? Since when did the English knights need foreign instructions how to serve their king? Especially from their sworn enemies? This man should be watched closely. Who knows what kind of ideas he has brought from his voyages? This old aristocracy, you must not take your eyes off them. Henry experienced a familiar dual feeling of admiration and resentment at the thought of his nobility, all those ancient families who regarded their high position as something taken for granted, something that no king could bereave them of. Do they feel gratitude for the generosity their monarch grants them? Or maybe consider it almost as his duty – to reward them for any trifle, any small doing at his service? And who, on their opinion, is serving whom? They are – their king or… vice versa? Sometimes Henry doubted that his noble subjects gave the correct answer to this question.

"Your Grace don't agree with us, do you? – The king inquired in the most casual manner. – We hope, a long stay away from home didn't change you and you still remain an honest Englishman? Despite your, as we are told, love for everything French?"

"Certainly, sire, - Lord Surrey said, a little surprised. His Majesty seems to suspect him of something. But of what, in the name of God? Has he given him a reason for any suspicion at all? – If my king desires to start a war, my sword will be the first at his service. Our family (the earl assumed a dignified air) always wanted the honour of the battlefield. And what better field than France?"

"_For heaven's sake, my lord!_ – Cromwell begged mentally. – _Anything but this! Keep your honorable reasoning to yourself. It would be better for everybody_".

"I am of the same opinion, - the Duke of Suffolk, who had been silent during the whole meeting, pronounced all of a sudden. – And I think if you have to choose between death on the battlefield to the glory of the king and a slow falling into a decline in your bed, surrounded by priests and apothecaries, a noble man won't doubt what he would prefer". Lord Surrey gave a thankful look at his neighbour. Yes, he knew that he could rely on this man.

"_Of course, your grace, we needed your interference so much! You've so obliged us, opening your mouth finally!"_ – Inwardly Cromwell was ready to resort to all prayers mixed up with curses he knew to stop this unexpectedly started flow of eloquence.

"_Charles is right_, – Henry's reflections again took a bleak turn. Second time for the last half an hour. – _That's what awaits us in ten, no fifteen years. Slow decline in the company of priests and apothecaries. Nothing can be done with it. Even the most powerful ruler in the world can't change the laws of nature. Though no. Noble man always has a choice. The war is the best medicine for senility_". Suddenly the king made a decision. What previously had been seen by him as one of the vague possibilities, now acquired in his mind the features of reality, consolidated, became flesh and blood. He will go to war with Francis. No matter, under what pretence. The diplomats will always find thousand grounds, allowing them to cross arms. If not, he will order to invent these grounds. Specially for this case.

Of course, the king was not going to fall a victim of a stray bullet or enemy's cannon-ball as a result of his military expedition. But lately more and more often he felt that desperate longing, that desire to experience once again a piercing sensation of the raise of his vital strength mixed with a stirring awareness of danger. The sensation the man can feel only in one place. On the battlefield. Fullness of life and proximity of death. And the youth returned to him. And there was something else which didn't give him a rest. Awareness of the missed opportunities. As if something had slipped through his fingers and he didn't even notice it amid his everyday cares. His dreams of glory. His desire to leave a mark in history. The feeling that he never made something the most important in his life. No, he still has time to amend it. But not before he will have another heir to the throne. Yes, in this order. At first a son, then the war. Of course, the victorious one.

"If your majesty allows me, - emboldened by the king's silent praise a few minutes earlier, Lord Seymour ventured on another statement. – It goes without saying, I not for a second doubt the rightness of our cause. However, I think the war with France would be the unwise decision at present".

"_Wrong moment, Edward_, - Cromwell could not help but notice to himself. – _You are a thousand times right, but you chose the wrong moment. If I wished, I'd give you a few tips on how to deal with his majesty. But why should I do it?"_

"The sad experience of the past shows us all ... difficulty of achieving our ultimate purpose for which alone it is worth starting such a costly enterprise. As for the short-term advantages, which are quite possible, unlikely they would justify the expenses. This is my humble opinion".

Henry's eyes narrowed to the size of small slits, through which one could hardly see anything. "_You_ think so? – He said, deliberately stressing the first word. – This is _your_ opinion? Thank you, we shall take it into consideration". The Earl of Hertford gritted his teeth. For the second time today he felt himself a schoolboy, failing an important exam.

"Now, my lords, only one subject is left, - Henry went on, - concerning Queen Katherine". He could not help but notice the tension the mere mention of this name had caused. The cold fury which had seized him after Edward Seymour's words, so inopportunely spoken, received a new impetus, as if somebody added fuel to the fire. "We wish to express publicly the love and respect we have to this virtuous, amiable and worthy lady, our wife. Sir Richard, I order you to arrange everything necessary for the forthcoming coronation of her majesty". The chancellor Rich bowed his head. "And desiring to thank her for pleasure her company gives us, we decided to settle upon her all the lands and manors which formerly belonged to Queen Jane", - Henry finished with satisfaction. The Seymour brothers looked at each other uneasily.

"The meeting is over", - the king proclaimed, rising from his chair. The councilors hurriedly jumped from their seats. Slowly going past the bowing courtiers, Henry dropped over his shoulder: "Cromwell, follow me. For a few words in private".

Making his way towards the door, the Lord Privy Seal almost physically felt a dozen of daggers, aiming at his back. If the eyes of his worthy companions really possessed the power of arms, his frail body would already lay lifeless at their feet.


	5. Chapter 5

(Hello, my dear readers! Here is my new chapter. But before start I want to say a few words about something that troubles me a lot. The problem with this fandom is that the show bases on the events which took place in reality and it may create an illusion of historic authenticity (or need of it). I have a great respect for history and its participants. But the characters in this story are not historical persons. They bear the names of historical persons. It is a huge difference. So forgive me, please, for any kind of offence you may feel because of my depiction of one or another character, for it's just AU and nothing more. Besides, I apologize for references to another epoch; I make them not because of lack of knowledge. And secondly, this fanfic actually contains a plot, it only develops slowly, I'm afraid. But there will be actions, not just reflections, I promise).

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Edward Seymour slowly walked down the palace gallery, paying no attention to the bows addressed to him. Mentally he was still there, in the Privy Council chamber, revolving in his mind each phrase pronounced at the meeting, recollecting the minor details of today's conference for more than a hundred time. For god's sake, what has he done wrong? Why did his majesty turn against him at the end so apparently, so visible for everybody, find such a pointed way to express his displeasure? And that bearing in mind, a few minutes earlier he clearly showed whose side he had taken in Edward's dispute with Cromwell, made everyone understand that he preferred the resolute arguments of his former brother-in-law to the habitual tricks and equivoques of the first minister. What does it mean? A warning? Hidden message which the earl of Hertford will have to decipher? Or, maybe the matter had nothing to do with him and his lame reply, whatever it was, at all?

Edward felt that against his will he was covering with cold sweat. The same sensation, as he remembered, he had experienced before, during the unbearably long months of his sister's pregnancy. When in vain he had tried to suppress the treacherous panic coming to his throat every time he doubted the fortunate position of stars in the sky, let hesitations shake his seemingly indestructible belief that they, the Seymours, were destined to become winners. Those who would have the last say. Then his confidence had not failed him. It's sad, of course, that Jane had to pay such a high price, but on the other hand… Deeply in his heart Edward could not help but realize that even by her death the sister rendered the last and perhaps the most important service to the family. Having left this world, she gradually lost the features of a real woman, turned in the mind of her royal husband into a symbol, an image of everything which was pure, sweet, unattainable. Almost a saint in the country that rejected the idolatry. And the glow of this aureole in one or another way touched all those close to her. Worshiping the memory of his deceased wife, giving her the qualities she probably hadn't ever possessed, the king built in his imagination far more impressive mausoleum than all real monuments put together. The best way to keep love forever is to destroy its earthly pattern, to make it a dream, an illusion, a product of a world of fantasies. The living mistress can disappoint you. Unlike the dead one.

So Edward Seymour had every reason to be confident in his position as a right-hand man to the king, perhaps, the more solid reasons than he had ever hoped for during the short reign of Queen Jane. No one could even think that the monarch would offend in the slightest manner the memory of the mother of his only heir. Until this day.

Mechanically Edward unfastened the top button of his doublet which suddenly became so tight for him. Has he really made a mistake of uncalculated proportions which threatened to cross out all his efforts to ascend to the heights of power? Has this brainless girl, this little wench, whom he carelessly presented to his majesty, actually acquired such a power over the king, so turned his head? What an irony of fate! With his own hands he, Edward Seymour, has elevated his rivals, this unbearable Surrey and all their clan of proud-spirited fools! And what has he got in return? The honour to serve as a target for endless ridicules of his grace Henry Howard, who never misses an opportunity to declare to everyone eager to listen how he despises the "new men" at court. It's clear, in whose garden this noble stone is directing. Edward clenched his teeth, cursing the day and hour when he agreed to participate in the conspiracy of that idiot Brandon, whose hatred of Cromwell deprived him the last remaining abilities of reasoning. No wonder that with such an ally they found themselves in deep shit. Because all they have achieved was another, the greatest promotion of the Lord Privy Seal (that's the man who truly has a talent to convert any setback to his advantage). And now there is this unexpected surprise. It is not difficult to guess where all of it may lead. Yesterday young Katherine got a hold of Jane's jewelry, today has become interested in her lands and other properties. And tomorrow? Tomorrow her son may challenge the rights of the heir to the crown? No! _That_ will never happen. Mentally Edward swore an oath to himself. Never in his life has he broken his promises. He was not going to change his habit now.

The Earl of Hertford turned the corner and found himself in an audience hall where, regardless of the time of day, the incessant hum of voices was constantly heard. His trained eye immediately caught from the crowd of courtiers and petitioners, who filled every inch of space, those ought to be noticed in the first place. As if in obedience to unknown law, they symmetrically placed themselves on the opposite sides of the room. Cromwell and his lackey Risley firmly occupied the left part of the chamber, while their graces Suffolk and Surrey were seen in the right side of it. Standing at the window embrasures precisely in front of each other, the representatives of the competitive parties did their utmost not to glance accidentally in the opposite direction. Really, there was something symbolic in it, Edward observed, his gaze travelling from one group of high dignitaries to the other.

Charles Brandon still kept an aloof, melancholic countenance which hadn't left him during all these past months. Even enthusiastic speech of the Earl of Surrey, periodically accompanied by vigorous gestures, could not turn him out of this state of the world grief. However, his companion, it seemed, was in no way discouraged by this circumstance and stubbornly continued to insist upon something. "_Tries to set him against me_", - Edward decided all of a sudden and this suspicion appeared the most obvious and taken for granted to him. Lord Surrey made a pause either to catch his breath or in anticipation of a response from his partner. For a moment he looked up at Edward and their eyes met. The future Duke of Norfolk made a bow to the uncle to the next king of England, hardly noticeable, but no less mocking one. A faint smile touched his lips. "_You may laugh, my lord, if you're so amused"_ – the Earl of Hertford inwardly answered to this sarcasm, – "_and don't forget the adage about who will have the last fun_". He looked the other way. The members of the left part of the assembly were also quite absorbed in the conversation. Although it was mainly Cromwell who had a talk, while his partner respectfully listened to the every word of his patron. "_Gives him instructions on how to spy on me when the court will be away_", - Edward guessed. For a moment he paused in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Then with deliberately slow steps he moved forward, into the center of the room.

Finding himself just in the middle between two groups, Lord Seymour stopped and looked around. When he became certain that his appearance didn't go unnoticed, he hesitated a little, just for achieving additional effect, and then resolutely turned to the left. All these actions had taken only a few minutes, but in the world where a slight cough of important person would become an occasion for a diplomatic correspondence and the most innocent phrase could be interpreted in a thousand different ways, those moments had a great significance. Edward was sure of it.

Seeing the earl of Hertford coming to him, Cromwell interrupted his speech and after a short and, as he hoped, imperceptible bewilderment assumed a familiar pose of suave courtier, always ready to be at your service. This mask had been used by him so often during his long years of work for his majesty that eventually became his second self. Almost automatically he gave his features a desired expression and inclined his head in direction of Edward. Sensing that he would be impediment, Mr. Risley stepped aside.

"Your grace will forgive me for my interference, - Lord Seymour pronounced in the most polite tone. – I'd like to thank you for the support you've given me today".

Cromwell looked inquiringly at him. "Support?" – He asked with a bit of astonishment in his voice.

"Yes, exactly, - confirmed Edward, not daunted by this not very warm reception. Mentally he gave himself a promise to bring this business to an end whatever it would cost him. – I mean your endorsement of my observations. Regarding Scotland".

"Oh, that", - in the reply of Cromwell one could easily read "my God, what a trifle! I'm always happy to please you". The Lord Privy Seal decided that a smile would be of some use in this case. "I really meant what I said. Your grace has made very wise comments. That's only their implementation…" He spread his hands apologetically.

"Tell me, - Edward came closer to his interlocutor. Now when the exchange of courtesies was successfully completed, he could afford confidential tone. - Do you really hope for the success of peace talks with James of Scotland? Do you believe that a couple of false, hypocritical phrases on their part combined with a handful of our gold will produce a miraculous effect? Stop their military raids?"

Cromwell made a characteristic mocking grimace which in itself was an answer. Then, more seriously, he said: "The fact is, my lord, that it can't be considered war in the strict sense of word. These forays… For local people they are just some kind of sport, if I may say so. They are used to live this way and you can do nothing with it. To set fire to a neighbour farm across the border is the same for them as for our knights is to break lances at the tournament".

"Exactly, - Edward became animated, - exactly, my lord! That's why I advocate the use of force. There is no other way. How else can you convince those savages that the world has law and order?"

Cromwell nodded assent. "Nevertheless, your lordship, - he remarked, - I still don't lose hope for a favourable outcome of this meeting".

"In this case, you are an optimist", - said Edward with irony in his voice.

"Despite all my past experience, I've probably saved some illusions", - the other man confessed.

The pause ensued, a long, significant, full of possibilities. The two nobles carefully studied each other, surveying the smallest nuance of emotions in the partner's eyes and waiting for another man to speak first. At last Lord Seymour gave in and broke a prolonged silence. "It's always a bit cleverer to think of future, - he said slowly, - and let the past remain in the past. At least, that's how I see it".

"This is a good philosophy, - Lord Cromwell answered, - especially if the future is better than the past".

"For me, it is", - responded Edward. He licked his dry lips and went on: "And I think that in this matter we are of the same opinion".

Cromwell closed his eyes for a moment, collecting thoughts. Then he looked up at Seymour and nodded his head. The Earl of Hertford smiled to himself. "I feel, my lord, we have some... common ground that allows us to reach an agreement. On some issues", - he decided to move a little further along his chosen path.

"If you mean the supposed war with France, then we do", - the Lord Privy Seal immediately agreed.

"But you did not speak publicly at the Council", - his companion almost reproached him.

"No, - Cromwell confirmed, - no, my lord. There is time for each word".

"I understand", - Edward replied. Almost simultaneously on the faces of both councilors appeared a smile, the sincerity of which none of them believed.

"I can't bother you any longer, your lordship", - Edward finally said. At parting he decided to resort to additional means in order to consolidate the emerging alliance more firmly. It was an open secret for everyone at court how proud the Lord Privy Seal was of the marriage he had contracted to the Princess Anne of Cleves. And though he rarely mentioned her name in public, let alone acquainted anyone with the details of his family life, even this master of hypocrisy and restraint could not hide from people around him his joy on the occasion of such an incredibly profitable union. Every time someone accidentally or intentionally touched in a conversation the name of the former queen, in the eyes of her present husband flashed a particular sparkle. Of course, it was not surprising that he enjoyed his victory, having got such an advantage over his rivals as the wife of royal blood warming his bed. Lord Seymour had to admit that the man intended for a victim of their thoroughly planned conspiracy now had every reason to celebrate his triumph. "_Well, let's feed his vanity, if he wants it_", - Edward said to himself.

"Allow me to convey my best wishes to her Highness, the Lady Anne, - the earl pronounced aloud. - I hope she feels well in her present condition?" The reaction was predictable, just as he expected. "Thank you, your grace, - Lord Cromwell immediately enlivened. - I will pass your kind words to my wife". For a brief, elusive moment it seemed to Edward that the smile of his companion was absolutely sincere.

Leaving the great hall, the Earl of Hertford glanced over his shoulder. He knew that members of another faction closely watched every detail of his dialogue with Cromwell. He just wanted to get an additional assurance of the strength of his intuition. The result did not disappoint him.

* * *

(OK, I understand it's rather short, but the matter is that I haven't updated almost a month and so decided to publish at least something from what I'm writing at present. If you read it, maybe, you let me know what size of chapters you'd prefer – short or long. In the last case it will take more time to accomplish them).


	6. Chapter 6

"_Well, my lord Seymour, you feel the ground begins to shake under your feet and decided to change sides. Sorry, your lordship, but don't judge too severely that you were not greeted with open arms_", - comfortably settling himself in his study with a glass of wine in hand, Thomas Cromwell felt the time came to consider his today's conversation with the uncle to the Prince of Wales. Fortunately, he was left alone at last. For the first time in this day he did not have to demonstrate his impeccable court manners, keep in readiness all his arsenal of pleasantries and amiability, seek out the hidden meaning in every word and every gesture of these skillful dissemblers around him. And smile at the people who, getting a chance, would not hesitate to stab in his back. Granting him their smile of triumph in return. For the first time in this day he could afford to relax. In his own chambers he was saved from the company of these people.

Thomas stretched forward his long legs and, sighing happily, took a small sip from the goblet. Pleasant wave of comfort and warmth wrapped him at once. He glanced at the desk, at this familiar picture of apparent disorder amid which, however, he was used to orientate without any difficulty, for long ago he had learned to find a system in the most horrible mess. Well, no harm will be done if he lingers a little longer before returning to the interrupted work, allows himself to enjoy a wonderful taste of the best French wine, relishes these rare moments of relaxation and almost complete idleness. After all, life is not such a bad thing, if it has place for these moments.

_Almost_ complete idleness. The rub lay there. It's striking how one word can change the meaning of the whole phrase, give it a different sense. Because even now, in his moments of rest, as Thomas was well aware, his mind continued to work, weighing the pros and cons of a possible political alliance, emerging on the horizon. Well, at least he had nothing to reproach himself for. He had behaved quite civilly and at the same time with a proper degree of detachment to leave the field opened for maneuvers in different directions. Frankly speaking, at present he felt his position stable enough to require unreliable allies. So, if my lord Seymour wants to build a bridge, let him work with a saw and axe himself. On the other hand, the pleasure to see a disgruntled face of His Grace the Duke of Suffolk is too tempting to resist it. Thomas could not help but grin remembering how painfully Charles Brandon tried to conceal his dissatisfaction and enmity at the sight of this brief tête-à-tête. That alone justified all complications which may result from this seemingly insignificant exchange of remarks.

Cromwell sipped a wine and against his will again plunged into reflections upon the most advantageous course of his actions. He did not nourish illusions about the intentions of his supposed partner. And if at this moment he had to tell in all sincerity and frankness who among his numerous enemies at court and outside it presented the greatest danger for him, he would not hesitate with an answer. Edward Seymour. His Grace the Earl of Hertford. The uncle to the heir to the crown, who in his dreams already sees himself as the closest adviser (and who knows, maybe the regent) of his young nephew. And there, beside him, on this cherished place, he would not tolerate any neighborhood. The closer he, Cromwell, would tie himself with this ambitious man today, the more vulnerable his position would become tomorrow. After all, by doing so he would help the earl to rise above all possible contenders. Edward Seymour, triumphing over his rivals, confident in his right to power, would be a hundred times more dangerous than at present, when he's just climbing upstairs. Of course, from top of the mountain only one way is possible – downhill. But before the inevitable happens, my lord regent might feel the temptation to use his power. For, just as Cromwell didn't question the identity of his most serious opponent, he was sure of the other thing too. That Edward also saw him as his future enemy number one. It was as plain as pikestaff.

However, understanding of this fact didn't cause a desperate panic in my lord Privy Seal's heart. He even failed to really hate his soon-to-be adversary. On the contrary, to his considerable surprise Cromwell discovered that he felt something like sympathy with Edward Seymour. Perhaps it was because he clearly saw the earl's motivations. For when Thomas looked at the king's former brother-in-law, he recognized himself as he had been about ten years ago, at the very beginning of his incredible, fantastic career. The same zeal in doing his duties and desire to gain royal favor. The same interest in each nuance of court life alongside with a firm determination not to let anyone outstrip him. The same ambition of the high rank. Maybe, even the reformist inclinations of his lordship, about which he hinted so transparently today, were also quite sincere. Though… Who knows?

Thomas smiled bitterly to himself. My lord Seymour, you are so passionately striving for the highest point, but what are going to do there? How do you intend to use your power, if and when you get it? Has it never occurred to you that mountain peaks are attractive only from a distance, but it's cold and uncomfortable to live there? If not, then the main disappointment still awaits you in the future.

Cromwell twiddled in his hands a Venetian goblet, absently watching the rays of the setting sun, reflected on its bottom. Yes, he had come a long way during these eventful years. Long gone were the times of fresh enthusiasm with which he used to take any commission of His Majesty, or secret and due to that fact even more intense satisfaction he had got after successful implementation of some cleverly conceived combination. And though he in no case could call himself an inexperienced novice or worse, a naive dreamer, even on him, the man who had seen a lot in his life, the court of King Henry initially produced a powerful impression. Yes, the new Secretary of His Majesty was blinded by this royal splendor, not so much by the external glitter of court life as by that aura of might which seemed to penetrate into the very air of the palace. He felt dizzy from the awareness of his proximity to the center of the power and the opportunities opening before him. If Cromwell were a man more weak or less experienced in life, he would certainly have made some fatal mistake, overestimating his capabilities. Now, looking back at the path he had covered, he understood perfectly well how difficult it had been in those circumstances not to yield to temptation, but keeping presence of mind and self-control, to walk on the razor's edge. And to succeed in accomplishing things he eventually had done.

Nevertheless, those years had left a bitter aftertaste behind them. Experience brought wisdom, wisdom gave birth to disappointments. Disappointment in friends and supporters, on whom he seemed to be able to rely without fear. In his ability to change the course of events and at the same time always remain in peace with his conscience. Disappointment in the people around him, including, alas, his majesty himself. And now more and more often he was overcome by doubts in his ability to complete the task which he voluntarily shouldered and to which once, in a rare moment of frankness he gave unerring definition. The task of creating a new order of things. Had it ever happened before, something as difficult and grandiose as what he intended to perform? And what would it look like, this new order of things, which at present was only looming in a dim distance? What if this new world would be different from the one he and his friends had pictured in their imagination, awakened by the prayers and spiritual searching? What if, despite the dealing with the devil, the evil would not be defeated and the tree of liberty would never come into leaves?

And what if he is doomed to carry this burden of responsibility till the end of his days, at the same time executing every caprice of the unpredictable monarch and not forgetting to beat off the attacks of his enemies?

Cromwell put the empty goblet on the table and looked sadly at the piles of papers waiting for him. He could doubt and hesitate to his heart's content, doubt everything, come in his skepticism to the denying of existence of god and devil themselves, but there was one thing he could be sure of. The answer to his last question.

If that's the case, if at his birth the stars had traced such a destiny for him, is it worth fighting it? Better to accept the inevitable and try to bargain with the fate of what it could give him. Including the temporary political alliance with the Seymours, into which he would enter after all in order to weaken the position of the Catholic faction at court. But he'll have to be very careful so that my lord Edward's ambitions, already considerable, would not assume a threatening scale. If the latter happened all the same, well, not for first time in his career Thomas Cromwell destroyed the enemy not to be destroyed by him. His personal sympathies were of no importance in this case.

Cromwell leaned back in a chair and wearily closed his eyes. It is useless to deceive himself. It is useless to fight with the feeling, which, it seemed, became his constant companion in recent years. Alone with himself he could afford frankness and call this feeling by name. No, his intellect and acumen still remained at a height, as well as his knowledge of people and their ulterior motives. As for his ability to make an accurate path in the turbulent waves of court life, over the past years it had acquired almost the traits of instinct. He was able to read other people's secret thoughts, including those their owners struggled to hide. He could foresee what other people wanted to achieve even before they realized they had any desires at all. It didn't require much wisdom, for those desires were not marked by particular originality. At one time he had almost openly amused himself at the expense of one or another courtier, trying his psychological abilities and very rarely making mistakes. But very soon the pleasure his insight gave him was replaced by disgust. And then came tiredness and boredom. Yes, it was this, intolerable, ineradicable boredom which began to show itself every time a new intrigue, a next turn of court politics appeared on the horizon. And more and more often he felt that he was moving forward by inertia, obeying the momentum once given to him, that only a strong sense of duty and ability to keep himself in hand did not let him collapse. Together with a faint hope that maybe that new world would be better than its present version.

Suddenly a gust of wind burst into the room through the opened window, breaking a short-lived pensiveness of its occupant. Cromwell started and turned his head in direction of a cold flow. In all appearances, it will rain soon. Stifling summer heat that had been reigning in the city for the whole last week prepared to discharge a thunderstorm. Thomas grimly smiled at the analogy, flashing through his mind. Once your attention deadens at least for a moment, you will find yourself at the center of the storm. That's his life, provoking the envy of some and admiration of others. There, on that top, which so many want to conquer, the wind is blowing stronger than in safer places. The slightest distraction, the slightest loss of vigilance, and you will fall in the abyss. He had no right to lose this vigilance, giving himself up to melancholy or disappointment or God knows what else. All these feelings meant weakness, weakness entailed ruin, real, not figurative. Thomas knew this too well. Because one day he approached the very precipice and dared to look down. Once in his life he broke the unwritten rules and immediately felt on his face an ominous whiff of death.

He was close to death because of her. Because of his feelings for her. He violated the rules because of her.

"Do you know what you are doing with me?" – He asked her once, clasping so closely to himself that he could feel the beating of her heart. Her eyes still kept that expression of amazement which always came to her at their moments of love. As if she could not quite believe in the actuality of what was happening between them and on the other hand did not want to part with the world they every time created for themselves, returning to the harsh reality. Because this world was the only one that really mattered. – "You make me weak. Yes, it's true. I'm getting weak near you". For a time she was silent, pondering on what she had just heard. Then attentively looked into his eyes and said, carefully choosing the words of a foreign language, as she always did in a moment of seriousness: "It's not dangerous. You can afford to be weak. You are strong enough for that". It's amazing how she was always capable of finding the right words which no one but her could say. Where, from what depths of her being did she get this knowledge of life, inaccessible to others, a hundred times more mellow with experience? How could she feel so, turn something that was only vaguely sensed by him, into words full of wisdom and understanding? No one else could do it. She was the only one.

Thomas went to the window and tightly closed the shutters. There is no need to let a rising wind disturb order in his study, throwing important documents in all directions. It's time to return to work, a break that he allowed himself became prolonged. He paused at the window, looking at the outlines of trees in the palace park. It's interesting, what is she doing now, at this very moment? Maybe, also standing at the window and watching as the sky is being covered with thunderclouds. Or comfortably sitting by the fire with some fine embroidery in hands. No, more likely that she is busy again with these silly papers, determined not to get up from the desk until the most insignificant, the most worthless letter will be read. Why does she so overwork herself, so give herself up to this job? It's beyond understanding. Cromwell felt surprise every time he thought of such diligence.

She will be already in bed when he returns home. He will stop at the doorstep of their bedroom, not wanting to break the silence, and then cautiously approach her and draw a canopy. And will watch as she's smiling at something in her sleep. Then she'll suddenly open her eyes, as if she never closed them at all, and ask, why he has come so late tonight and what has kept him this time and of course he has forgotten about supper prepared for him and… She can be very displeased, even angry sometimes. For these months he came to know his Anne very well. His Anne… Yes, she has always been his. Everything that happened to her before didn't matter as didn't matter a bad dream, the details of which we, woken up, vainly try to call to mind. She never belonged to _him_, to that, another man, could not belong. That man did not deserve her.

Once again Thomas remembered that now distant winter evening when just as today he had been sitting in the same room, close to despair from a sudden disaster fallen on him. For the first time in his long career at court he did not know what to do, how to overcome this new and completely unexpected difficulty, because it affected that sphere of life where he felt powerless. This new threat came from the world he could not control and therefore was much more dangerous than anything he had experienced so far. It was then that he resorted to the last means, remained in his disposition. Asked the Lord for advice how to continue to serve Him and stay alive. Now, after everything what happened, Thomas could not help thinking with irony that, perhaps, his prayer was heard after all. If so, then indeed God works in mysterious ways. Because what was to become his ruin turned out to be his salvation. He did not suppose then, sitting alone in his large and empty chambers that he was fated to experience again something he thought for himself impossible, something which related to the distant past and had no connection with his present existence. He was unaccustomed to analyze his emotions, he was afraid to call them back to life and so simply forbade himself to think about them. Eventually he put up with the thought that he would have to live the rest of his days in solitude. Though, the depth of his loneliness he realized only when it came to an end.

When did it happen? When did he understand that his soul made room for another creature, unfamiliar, enigmatic, uninvited? And this unexpected guest demanded his attention more and more insistently and louder until finally took possession of all his thoughts. Thomas could not say with certainty when it had happened. Perhaps it began when she first smiled at him, passing between the rows of respectfully bowing courtiers. She walked so gracefully, so regally. Like a queen whom she was. It was then that he thought she was more than any other woman worthy to be queen, that she would be better than her predecessors, and why, for heaven's sake, the king had not opened his eyes yet, and what more needed to be done to make this spoiled monarch realize at last what a treasure he had got. At that moment she stopped and looked at him. And then she smiled. There were plenty of people in that room, but she smiled exactly at him. In that crowd she had seen only him.

And then, as time passed and he had already got accustomed to see her almost every day, when these meetings had become the part of his life, she suddenly disappeared. No, of course she did not evaporate in the thin air and did not even leave the palace, just stopped to appear in public. At heart, Thomas knew the reason for her seclusion and did not blame her, could not blame her for that. And yet it was unbearable. Then, after a long time of hesitations and agonizing struggle with himself, he finally plucked up courage and went to her. To say that he wanted to see his queen, that his life was not full without her. He said it not only to her, but also to himself.

Since then he kept thinking of her. Even when his brain was occupied with something else, something from the outer world, he was thinking of her. By some secret corner of his soul, not available to the control of his mind. And it gave him such happiness, in contrast with which everything else was of little importance. The sensation of sweetness and pain in chest from the knowledge that she lives in this world. Nothing could compare with that.

And yet Thomas remained realist and understood that nothing in this life is given for free. The ancients were wise, they knew that gods are always jealous of people's bliss. That's why his happiness was mingled with anxiety. And though he never considered himself superstitious, now he feared any sinister sign of fate, feared what might happen to them both. All what was going on now was too good to last forever.

Cromwell resolutely pulled the parchment to himself and took a quill. He must hurry to finish his work today, if he does not want to be soaked to the skin in the rain. What a picture he would present to his wife, if he comes to her chilled to the bone and in clothes splashed with mud. Besides, she may worry and it is not good in her condition.

* * *

The rain began in earnest. A powerful, sweeping away everything in its path July downpour. As though the nature got tired of complete serenity and sweet bliss and decided to show another face - strong, fierce, all-crushing. In such a time it's better to stay indoors, within the safe walls of your house, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace and the best wine from your supplies. Edward Seymour thought about the poor creatures, who at this moment for one or another reason were deprived of these good things of life, and it made him feel pleasure of his present condition even more keenly. He tightly wrapped himself in a robe and looked at a checkerboard with the chessmen, accurately and in due order placed on its surface. Sometimes, for the sake of calming his nerves he liked to indulge in this innocent game, to escape from the everyday chaos to the harmony of the chess world. His mind got satisfaction, inventing and solving a variety of complex combinations, over which, unlike in the real world, he always retained control.

But there, in the real world, the situation remained uncertain. Though this uncertainty was fraught with different possibilities and one of them, apparently, began to emerge before him today. Alliance with Cromwell and his influential protestant friends. Edward Seymour did not have to possess a special acumen to see all the possible benefits this union would give him. As well as complications which may result from such an open demonstration of his political and religious preferences. And yet he had no choice. Today's meeting of the Council has served as the last push Edward needed to make a final decision. It has been already long time these Howards were getting on his nerves. And especially one of them. His Grace the Earl of Surrey. The most smug and intolerable of all this empty-headed family. For heaven's sake, does he really believe that his future title gives him the right to look at others as if they were no much better than dirt under his noble feet? The greatest offence in this case lay in the fact that, as Edward knew at heart, the earl had no need to make any efforts for achieving the desired effect. He did not even consciously seek to manifest his superiority. He did it naturally, like breathing or yawning. He _actually_ felt the privilege of his noble birth, as though a long train of his aristocratic ancestors invisibly stood behind his back, supporting their offspring in all his undertakings. He _actually_ saw all the others, who did not have the honor to belong to that small circle of the selected, immeasurably inferior than him. Understanding of this plain fact filled the heart of son of a country gentleman with the hidden rage.

Of course, Edward was not going to deny that my Lord Surrey had got certain ground for such a pride. He even was ready to admit that in this complicated world their families originally had occupied quite different positions on the hierarchical ladder. But for God's sake, isn't the kinship with the king worth nothing? Doesn't it automatically raise you above all others, who only yesterday were your equals, doesn't wash away any dirty stain of your past, so you can consider yourself truly reborn? Lord Seymour was ready to meet his peer and companion, acknowledging to a certain extent his priority, he actually took the first step in that direction. He had done everything his pride and dignity allowed him to do and what was the result? Cold, insulting indifference. And if only the matter was limited to this! Obviously assuming that alongside with the title and wealth the nature bestowed on him a poetic gift, Lord Surrey decided to write a poem where in a transparent manner described their family. And even dared to hint that they, the Seymours, had risen high by murdering the innocents. Well, this time his lordship crossed the line. And if he wants war, he will get it!

One more time Edward turned over in his mind the details of his today's conversation with Cromwell. On the whole, he could be contented with himself. He had behaved quite civilly and at the same time not too obsequiously, made it clear to his interlocutor how desirable and mutually beneficial their political friendship could become without openly revealing his aspiration for concluding such an alliance. And he thinks he succeeded in doing this. His hints to their common religious beliefs were also quite in place, as well as the regrets over what had happened in the past and what reasonable people should leave behind them. It certainly produced a favorable effect. So, summing up, the Earl of Hertford could say with a clear conscience that he had coped quite well with his difficult task.

Edward attentively looked at the disposition of the chessmen in the center of the board and after a short hesitation made knight's move. Yes, he had been wrong when hoping to ruin Cromwell in the king's eyes and thus only unnecessarily acquiring a powerful enemy. Now he saw clearly to what an extent he had underestimated his antagonist, his notorious, almost animalistic abilities to survive, had underestimated the degree of influence of this intriguer over His Majesty. God knows what exactly had happened during those summer months just a year ago, what had destroyed that thoroughly erected construction, so he, Seymour, could consider himself lucky enough, for he had jumped to the side in time not to be buried under its wreckage. Just think, he and Brandon had already seen themselves soon-to-be winners, had been absolutely confident in their triumph! Well, it was a good lesson of court struggle, and the Earl of Hertford was not going to neglect it. A wise man must admit his mistakes and learn from them to go forward. Today he, Edward, has taken one more step towards his future, a small, but very important step.

Of course, Lord Seymour knew very well who in that future presented the greatest danger for him. It was not his ex-partner, the unlucky Duke of Suffolk, who, despite his long-standing friendship and kinship with the King, remained ordinary, though extremely arrogant simpleton. And not His Grace Henry Howard, whose pride and self-confidence in the long run would turn against him. And not Sir Francis Bryan or any other of this kind of rogues, whom His Majesty would take into his head to bring nearer to himself. There was only one person who really mattered. The Lord Privy Seal. Executor and mastermind of all sinister designs of the King. The man who had come from nowhere to put an end to the old order of things. Lord Cromwell. Only he and he alone stood between Edward and his destiny. The head of the Seymours family did not doubt that once the day would come and they would clash in mortal combat for who would rule this country. It was as plain as pikestaff.

Edward took a sip of wine and dreamily plunged into reflections. Yes, he had come a long way during these eventful years. How long ago had he considered himself happy, because a man like Cromwell had condescended to speak to him? How long ago had he felt dizzy from this glitter, this luxury of court life, so sharply contrasted with the simplicity and boredom of his former country existence, and he could not quite believe at heart that he had become a part of this world? Edward smiled at these memories of his youth. In those days the position of a groom of the king's chambers had been the limit of his ambitions. Yet even then he had believed he was destined for something great. He always knew his worth.

He could even say with certainty when his destiny had been finally opened before him. No, it had not happen when his sister, standing in the royal chapel, put on her finger the ring the king had given to her. And not when, barely keeping on his legs from long hours of fatigue and joyous excitement, he had brought to His Majesty the long-awaited news of the birth of the heir to the crown. It had happened six months ago, in Scotland, where he had gone at the head of the royal army to punish the subjects of King James for their impertinence. There, away from court with its perpetual intrigues and spies, away from the formidable monarch with his constantly changing mood Edward suddenly felt himself free. He was no longer a courtier, humbly bowing to the will of his sovereign. And not a high dignitary, one among the others. He was the commander, the head over the thousands of men whose lives, as well as the fate of the local people depended solely on his decision and on his whim. There, in that remote land there were no other laws except the law of war. He himself created this law.

Of course, Edward Seymour was not going to organize a mass slaughter in the best traditions of the Turkish Janissaries. Thank God, he was born in a civilized country. He was contented with the awareness of his capabilities. He could order the execution of infringer of the military discipline or could show leniency. He could play the role of a merciful lord in front of trembling peasants, beseeching him to spare their worthless belongings, or could command to put to the sword all within a thousand miles around. He could… practically everything. During some short period he felt himself almost a king. For the first time in his career at court Lord Seymour sensed it on his lips, the sweet taste of power. Nothing in the world could compare with this.

Since that time Edward knew his future. Of course, he would have to withstand a serious struggle, but it did not frighten him. On the contrary, he felt a surge of strength and something like an excitement at the prospect of these future trials. He had a trump card, in comparison with which any advantage of his rivals were of little importance. And he was not going to lose it.

"I've read it", - a female voice, unexpectedly resounded, broke Edward's short-lived pensiveness. He turned his head toward that sound and saw his wife Anne, standing next to his chair and angrily squeezing in hands the hilt of his sword. Her eyes shot lightning. – "I've read that nasty poem by Surrey, about which you told me. It's outrageous! What does he think of himself?"

"He thinks us all his inferiors". – Edward gloomily replied. – "So we will happily tolerate any of his escapades. And shall be grateful for the fact that his lordship has graced us with his attention at all".

"He dared to call me the wolf lady and himself a lion", - Anne went on, as if not hearing her husband's remark. Her anger seemed to increase with each word. – "He claims that I tried to entrap him, but he is too noble a beast to be tangled by such cunning hooks. It's unthinkable. Who else could afford such a thing?"

The countess went around the table at which Edward was sitting and came to the middle of the room. Against the background of the stormy sky, illuminated by the flashes of lightning, her figure assumed a dark, almost fantastic aura. The thick locks of her black hairs got disheveled over her shoulders, lips were tightly pressed in a vain effort to keep in emotions possessing her, eyes still eradiated a peculiar, violent sparkle. She had not lost hold of the sword yet and it gave her resemblance with the ancient Amazon. The embodiment of righteous anger and calls for revenge. The Valkyrie, returned from the old legends.

"_She is definitely an interesting woman_", - Edward thought. – "_No wonder, men are drawn to her_". In these observations he did not see anything personal. Just statement of fact. In the same detached way he could think of any other woman, who would catch his attention. Attractive, appealing, the men must like her…

"Do you hear what I am telling you?" – Anne came to the table again and threw the sword on it, literally a few centimeters away from the checkerboard. A little closer and she would have overturned all chessmen on it, destroying an interesting combination. – "What are you going to do?"

"Am I supposed to do something?" – Edward inquired, doing his best to remain composed. For god's sake, anything but these family quarrels. He shared the indignation of his wife, but really, at the time being she would better stay in her rooms.

"You think otherwise?" - Anne's voice sounded calmly and quietly, so the menacing notes in it became more audible. – "Do you think you must not defend the honor of your family, the honor of your wife? Protect her from any insults?"

"_She takes it too much to heart_", - Edward noted with a touch of surprise. Personally he didn't see a comparison of his dear wife with a wolf lady as a very strong insult. On the contrary, in her place he would rather take it as a kind of compliment. But the countess obviously was of different opinion. Why? What had forced this usually so restrained, even cold woman to lose her temper so much?

For the first time Edward thought that perhaps the notorious poem was not intended for his eyes. The reaction of his wife meant something personal, something… intimate. Like quarrel between lovers. Oh my God, Anna! Have you started it again? When he asked his wife to show amiability towards the Earl of Surrey, it didn't imply that her hospitality should open before him the doors of their bedroom. Why does she always feel the need to lead everything to an extreme?

"Surely, my dear husband", - Anne leaned towards him, caressing with words. Her lips were in dangerous proximity from his own. – "You can arrange something that will teach the earl good manners. Give him a lesson in humility. So that everybody would see, no slander against our family goes unpunished".

"It is not as easy as you suppose", - Edward said coldly, moving away from her. Let her not think that she can easily play him. – "Unfortunately, we did him the great favor, making the member of his family a queen".

Anne straightened, looking contemptuously at him. "What is made can be unmade", - she answered with a shrug. By a single gesture she swept away this minor obstacle. The queen! Everybody knew this position could not be considered irreplaceable.

"I don't see the chance", - Edward persisted. – "The king is besotted by her". The last phrase he uttered with a tinge of surprise mixed with disdain. Is it possible to be in such a dependence on a _woman_? Once a man affords such weakness, allows his heart to yield to this dangerous charm, he is done.

"That may change someday", - Anne remarked philosophically, - "as it already happened before. Especially as she is just a silly girl, who thinks of nothing but dances and pretty clothes. She will not stay here long, you'll see".

"It depends", - Edward still did not want to surrender. – "As you know, she managed to get pregnant, at least she claims so. And if she gives birth to a son (his voice trembled at these words, against his will betraying his secret fears), then her position can be regarded as indestructible".

Anne mused for a moment and then emphatically shook her head. This argument also did not seem very convincing to her: "Anyway, our Edward is first in line of succession. And the Howards should be reminded of it. So that they would not turn up their nose. Besides, there is a long way from pregnancy to delivery".

Suddenly her voice broke off. Edward raised his head, and she met his gaze. They did not need to say anything. Twice Lady Seymour had tried to give birth to their child and in both cases those attempts had ended in pain and despair from unfulfilled hopes. Now she was pregnant again, although the couple decided not to announce about it yet. For a moment Anne wanted her husband to put out of his head all his schemes, to come and embrace her, to say that she should not be afraid, that this time all shall be well and soon everything will change. And she would believe him, would believe that they still had a chance. She wanted it so desperately that feared her eyes would be filled with tears.

"We must hope for the better", - she heard his voice. He looked away and spoke, as though addressing the bookcase. – "That there will be no second son. And that our Edward will survive childhood. Too much is at stake now".

"You are right", - she said faintly. – "We have gone too far to come back". A few minutes passed and her voice regained its former sharpness: "And yet, Surrey should be given a lesson!"

"_Probably they were not lovers_", - it occurred to Edward. Otherwise she would have looked more relaxed, even satisfied as it already had been before. Now she really resembled a she-wolf, who had missed her prey. It's interesting, by whose fault had it happened?

"At present their position seems to me more precarious than ours", - the countess continued to evolve her thoughts. – "Moreover, Anne of Cleves is also expecting a child. Imagine what will happen if the king's ex-wife gives Cromwell a son, while this… this little slut produces another baby girl. Or does not deliver at all. Her family will burn with shame".

Lord Seymour straightened in his chair. One idea just visited him. "You know, perhaps, we do not need to wait until the king becomes disappointed in his sweetheart", - he said, looking at his wife. – "We can help his majesty. As good subjects should do".

"_No, she did not sleep with him_", - Edward came to a final conclusion, seeing the joyful gleam in the eyes of his wife. He only could not decide to himself what more flattered his male dignity - the fact that his wife had remembered her duty at the last moment or that this noble knave had chosen not to cross his path after all.

There are things you will never know. Long ago Lord Seymour had learned this wisdom. If that's the case, is it worth wasting your efforts? He took a deep breath and began to speak.

* * *

(So, now we have met the main characters and glimpsed at what's going on in their mind. It is the end of the introduction part. Yes, six chapters are too much for an introduction, but I must say that all the events there (except the first chapter) take place during one and the same day.

There are some things in this chapter of which I am not sure. For example, I don't know if the title "Your Grace" was used when addressing the earl, but I did so for lack of better option. Besides, I have doubts in regard to grammatical and stylistic structure of some phrases, I am not sure that I put them correctly in English. Nevertheless, I decided to publish it as it is and I ask for some condescension.

By the way, I have not invented a title for Cromwell yet. Surely, he must have one, but I don't want to refer to history in this case. So in this stage at least, his situation is not clear.)


	7. Chapter 7

**My big apologies to those who are reading this story that I haven't updated for a long time, different matters stood in the way. Besides I feel that I lost initial enthusiasm in regard to fanfiction and I'm afraid it may influence my writing. But finally I've managed to "give birth" to this chapter. Of course, I am always glad to get to know your opinion, whatever it would be, because it means that the story interests you and so it prompts me to write further.**

_Grief__ desespoir, plein de_ _forcenement_,

_Langour sans fin et vie mal__heur_

_Pleine de pl__eur, d'angoisse et de tourment,_

_C__oeur douloureux qui vit obscurement,_

_Tenebreux corps sur le point de partir_

_A__i, sans soucier, continuellement_

_Et si __je ne puis ne guerir, ni mourir._

The sad sounds of French ballad filled the entire space of the room, soaring up to heaven on top notes and falling down as soon as the melody changed the tone. Sitting at the harpsichord, Anne of Cleves did her best trying not to stray from the tact, especially in difficult parts, and thereby unwittingly destroy the harmony created by the combination of music, words and beautiful voice of her partner. With the best will to focus her attention solely on the musical list, she could not help but give herself up to this triple charm, for a moment carry her thoughts away to another, different, accessible only for her, world. Unfortunate distraction, and her fingers slipped down the right key, producing an unpleasant chord. In despair she put hands on her laps.

"I am sorry, Elizabeth, I have played out of tune again", she said, guiltily looking at the young woman, who was standing half-turned to her. – "Let's start it from the beginning one more time". Elizabeth smiled and taking away hair, fallen on her forehead, nodded in agreement. "As you wish, Anne. But in this case, please, take an octave lower, it's difficult for me to sing the highest register". While the pianist, sighing, scrutinized strange symbols of musical notation, the singer decided to rest a bit. Taking a fan from the vanity-table, she wearily sank into a chair and began to flutter herself with it lazily. Really, this heat had exceeded all, conceivable even for July, bounds.

"Why wouldn't you, ladies, play something less funeral?" – resounded a voice of Elizabeth's husband, sitting in a casual pose on a nearby chair. The young man reached for another fan, and turning it like an arrow, playfully aimed at his wife as if trying to strike her by this weapon. "Less funeral?" – Elizabeth was unimpressed by these advances. – "Think what you speak, Gregory. Don't you know that it is a famous verse written by Christine de Pisan a century and a half ago? She wrote it after her husband's death. She says that since his departure her life has become a curse. That's what this song is about".

"Poor woman!" – Gregory drawled almost sympathetically. He rose to his feet and going back to the chair on which Elizabeth was sat, clasped her with both hands. - "But really, Liz, you need not sing such songs. Your husband is alive". "You understand nothing in music", followed the answer of indignant wife. "Yes, I do", - the young man readily agreed. – "I'd like something simpler, something more funny". "Then go", - Elizabeth said quietly, but distinctly, tearing herself from his arms. – "If it doesn't interest you. Go and leave us alone".

"Do you see, Lady Anne, how I am treated here?" – In mock desperation the young man asked for help from his stepmother, who, leaving the music, watched with interest the unfolding scene. – "How can you name this outrage?" "No, Master Gregory, do not count on my support", Anna shook her head strictly. – "Not in this case".

"Well, if so", - Gregory spread his hands, - "I am left to seek solace somewhere else". And in order not to let this threat be merely a name the youth resolutely made his way to the doors. Reaching the threshold, he turned his face towards both ladies and smiled slyly. "I'll go to drown my sorrows in wine. At the library. At least, it's the coldest room in the house". With these words he shut the door behind him.

"Well, well, Lissie", - Anne said knowingly. – "I'm afraid you should expect some dissatisfaction today". "This is dissatisfaction in store for him, if he fulfills his intention", - Elizabeth shook her luxuriant shock of hair and rose from chair. – "Let's go on, dear. Now we shall not be disturbed. And if someone does not understand high art, he alone is to blame".

"Well, if you are ready, then I am ready too", - Anne said and touched the keys.

They were singing about life full of anguish and despair, anger and pain, about existence balancing on the edge of death and yet unable to plunge into its healing silence, about heart, which the sufferings have deprived of all gladness of the world, leaving the only pleasure instead – ability to express its torments in words. They were young and beautiful, their life was filled with joy, they loved and were loved. The future, so far as they thought about it, presented itself as something which could be seen openly and without fear. They could afford to indulge in melancholy. Happiness they enjoyed served them as reliable protection.

The final sounds of music quietly vanished into space and immediately were replaced by applause. Almost simultaneously the two women turned their heads to this sudden sequel and saw Anne Seymour, standing at the doorstep. "Bravo!" - An unexpected guest sent the hostess the most charming of her smiles and took a few steps forward, still clapping. – "It was just great. Marvellous!"

"Lady Hertford", - feeling an incomprehensible embarrassment, Anne of Cleves rose from the harpsichord and moved towards a lady who so suddenly and without warning intruded into her securely fenced off all external turmoil dwelling and caught at such trivial matters as music. – "Excuse me, for god's sake. I haven't heard you coming. Why hasn't the maid announced you?" At the last words Anne looked around the room as if searching for a negligent servant. She really was uneasy, because without even knowing it she became the object of someone's close observation and nowhere else but within the walls of her own house. And besides, she made her visitor wait instead of given immediate attention to her. Unpardonable flaw! What would this sophisticated, courtly woman think about her?

"It would have been a crime to interrupt such divine performance!" – On lips of Lady Seymour still played a courteous smile. – "I've sent the maid away and was left alone to enjoy it. I hope you are not angry with me very much?"

"Your grace are flattering us", - the hostess said with a noticeable relief in her voice. Both women had overcome the distance separating them and stopped in front of each other in uncertainty. Who must greet whom first: one and the same unspoken question, it seemed, was written on their faces. In former times they would have been saved from such difficulty, strict rules of court etiquette, becoming their second nature, did not leave them time for this kind of thinking, which made the existence easier, but now…Now everything was different, and for the first time in her life Anne Stanhope was confused, not knowing how to conduct herself. '_In fact, we are equal now',_ - it occurred to her all of a sudden. – '_Really, why must her husband be considered as standing higher than mine? But, on the other hand, she is, so to speak, the king's sister. Well, what of that? I also belong to the royal family. However, taking into account the purpose of my visit, I should not show disrespect at once_'.

While one Anne feverishly pondered over the way how to demonstrate friendliness and at the same time not to demean her dignity, the other one warily studied her guest, her fashionable without being indecorous dress, skillfully selected jewelry properly fitted each other, her seemingly casual manner to hold a fan. And, of course, her acute sense of smell immediately felt a pleasant perfume, not sharp, but attracting attention which had spread in her room after arrival of the new lady. 'S_he is truly the embodiment of elegance_', - that was the conclusion from her observations, - '_I must not lose face_'.

"Welcome to my home, Lady Hertford", - Anne said finally, feeling that every further minute of silence only worsened the situation. Following instinct she opened her arms and the other woman hesitantly repeated the same. For a moment their cheeks lightly touched each other in an awkward attempt to produce something resembling a kiss. '_I wonder what perfume she uses_', Lady Cromwell thought in a distant corner of mind, sensing cold on her face. – 'S_urely, from Paris. Perhaps, I should order the same'._ "I am glad to meet you", - she added and stepped back, letting the guest forward. "The pleasure is mine", – the other Anne quickly responded, accepting the invitation.

"Oh, Elizabeth", - going past the harpsichord, Lady Seymour welcomed her sister-in-law in a slightly affected voice. As though she had only just noticed the presence of someone else in the room. – "Haven't seen you for ages". "Good day, Anna", - the girl answered quietly, not moving an inch. "You sing like an angel, I should say", - the visitor went on in the same half elevated, half ironic tone. "Really?" - Elizabeth parried. – "It's interesting. Never heard the angels singing". "Why do you want to be so unbearable, Lissie? Why don't just thank me for the compliment?"- In all likelihood, the courtesy of Mistress Seymour, as everything else in the world, had its limits. "Oh, ladies, I beg you", - the hostess of the house implored anxiously and made a conciliatory gesture. – "Your grace, please, make yourself at home. Elizabeth, join us".

The three ladies settled themselves at a small table at some distance from each other. "A little ale?"- Anne of Cleves politely inquired, taking a hand-bell for a call of servants. – "Or maybe your grace would prefer wine?" "At your choice" – responded her namesake. "Then beer. What could be better on hot summer day?" Emerging at the doorstep, the maid silently listened to some German instructions of her mistress and, having dropped into a quick curtsey, disappeared.

"Yes, from this heat there is no salvation", - Lady Hertford remarked, fanning herself. – "I hoped that yesterday's thunderstorm would freshen the air, but alas. Haven't remembered such awful summer".

"Just think, once I was sure that it's cold in England", - the Princess of Cleves said lively, and her companions eagerly smiled in response.

"I fear all of this is especially unpleasant for you. In your condition?", - the countess moved her eyes in the direction of Anne's rounded belly.

"It is true", - the other woman admitted. – "But I bravely try to put up with it. After all, do I have any other choice?" The ladies nodded sympathetically.

"Though, it's not so much the stuffiness that depresses me than, how to say it correctly, odours in the air", - Anne added.

"Yon mean the smell?"- clarified Lady Seymour.

"Yes, exactly. This stink coming from everywhere once you open the window. Especially from the riverside. I discovered long ago that I am particularly sensitive to this kind of things".

"Oh, you are absolutely right. These common people do not understand anything in cleanliness. I, for my part, never leave home without these little aromatic balls. Otherwise you are risking suffocation", - At these words Anne Seymour demonstrated imperceptible white circles which she carefully hided under the cuffs of her long sleeves. '_So, that's what it is. And I thought it's her perfume_', the other Anne said to herself.

Meantime her companion kept on developing the theme: "I am truly sorry for you that your house stands so close to the river. It seems everything possible is dumped into it, all urban sewage. But really, can nothing be done with it? Carry out any work, drainage, I don't know how it is called? It's strange that Lord Cromwell has not done anything yet. He should have given necessary orders long ago".

"I am sure to tell him about it. But you know he is so busy with other things".

"So typical of men. They solve world's problems and don't notice what's happening before their eyes", - Lady Seymour said in an understanding tone.

The conversation, smoothly started, was interrupted by the reappearance of the chambermaid. "What's happened, Louise?" – asked the hostess and having heard the girl's agitated German speech, hastily rose to her feet. "Forgive me, please", - she turned to her guest. – "A small misunderstanding. I'll desert you for a moment".

Left alone, Lady Seymour began to survey the room at which she had managed to cast only a glance so far. She had never been in the London house of Cromwell and his highborn spouse or in any of their country residences and now took the opportunity to examine the surroundings. She could be sure that no insignificant detail of the interior would escape her alert eyes. Considering herself a legislator of style and one of the first ladies at court, the countess of Hertford was very sensitive to the danger of being bypassed by anyone in matters of fashion, whether it was a new cut of dress, a custom to cover the floors with carpets, or, for example, the latest trends in the field of religion and spiritual life in general. Her gaze slid over the wall panels, noting in passing a pleasing for eyes color of ornament (a bit of light grey sorts of oak in addition to the traditional dark ones and usually dusky chambers of the aristocracy acquired fresh, one may say, merry sight), was delayed in its travels on the tapestry on the opposite side of the wall, portraying some mythological story, something from the life of ancient gods, so popular in recent times, and suddenly came into contact with a shrewd look of Elizabeth Cromwell, directing at her. One could not say that this look conveyed great affability.

"Something is wrong, Lissie?" – Lady Seymour inquired evenly.

"Why have you come here, Anne?" – her sister-in-law asked bluntly.

Inwardly the countess made a wry face. As long as she had known the sister of her husband, that woman had not stopped to irritate her by this habit of asking inconvenient questions. Almost like a child who spent a lot of time in an inappropriate company of servants and therefore was not properly trained in manners. Though whatever else but of childish naïveté Lady Elizabeth was hard to be accused. Rather it was conscious demonstration of some defiance to the generally accepted norms of behaviour, of course, implicit, but still quite noticeable to those who could see such things. This woman had always spoken a little louder than people around her, expressed her thoughts more plainly than other ladies, asked a bit more frank questions than propriety allowed. And so far she felt herself in her own right, invulnerable in her self-confidence.

"This is a courtesy visit", - Anne said calmly, not changing countenance, - "sometimes people pay them to each other to demonstrate their politeness and respect. If, of course, you understand what I mean". In all appearance Elizabeth was going to say something, but didn't have time. The door opened, letting in the hostess of the house, followed by two servant-girls. The trays the maids carried were laden with a variety of exotic fruits. At the sight of this diversity Lady Seymour threw up her hands. "Really, so much troubles for me. I'm truly embarrassed", - she exclaimed. "It's pleasure for me, my lady", - the other Anne told her and wishing to show a guest an example, took a slice of apple from the plate.

For a moment the room was inflated with silence, which was occasionally broken only by the movements of maids, setting jugs of ale on the table and pouring this beverage into goblets. Lady Seymour patiently waited until the girls finished this work and retreated (as she hoped, this time for good), while her namesake painfully reflected in what stream it would be better to direct the conversation. The saving topic of weather was apparently exhausted, all the other subjects seemed to be either too banal, or, conversely, too slippery and even dangerous.

Deep down Anne was not satisfied with herself. She could not explain why, but she was unnerved in the presence of this woman. In fact, till this day all their contacts had been superficial. From time to time these noble ladies met at court, but, apart from obligatory obeisance and a couple of minor phrases practically did not communicate with each other. Not that Anne of Cleves thought a lot about this woman or paid very much attention to her, but each time the occasion brought them together she instinctively had been on guard. Perhaps the reason for it laid in a special way Lady Seymour looked at others, with a slightly contemptuous sneer and a hidden challenge. Or in arrogance she assumed so often. Or in a habit, popular among these courtiers, to smile without really smiling, only by corners of lips while the eyes remained unreadable, a habit the countess of Hertford had mastered to perfection. Or maybe the whole matter was that in the eyes of German princess this woman personified that noble English lady, refined and elegant from top to toe, whose image had taken shape in her mind after talk with the duke of Suffolk at Calais, on the very day of her arrival at this country. Whatever it was, an annoying feeling of insecurity and anxiety began to stir somewhere in the depths of her being again. Anne could only hope that she would successfully hide this feeling from others.

"I could not help but notice this marvelous tapestry", - Lady Seymour said as soon as the door behind the maids was closed. – "Is it an Italian work?"

"No, Flemish", - Anne answered, gratefully glancing at the interlocutor. It looked as if a suitable topic was found. – "From Antwerp".

"Oh, Antwerp", - the countess slowly pronounced this foreign name as though trying it on the tongue. – "It's somewhere near your lands, isn't it?"

"At that region", - the princess of Cleves decided not to specify the location of that city. At heart she was a little hurt that in spite of many months spent in this country, the Englishmen, apparently, still regarded her as a foreigner. But, on the other hand, why should it be otherwise?

"I like its colour", - the visitor remarked, - "these threads, this embroidery. All is so well suited. Is this one of the famous masters?"

"Unfortunately, I forgot his name", - Anne sincerely confessed. – "Tom… Lord Cromwell said that this thing costs a fortune".

"No wonder. The days of Italians have passed. Now the northern art is in fashion. Tapestries including", - the countess said in a tone of a connoisseur.

"Really?" - Lady Cromwell evidently was surprised by this remark.

"Certainly", the other woman's voice conveyed unshakable confidence. – "It's not the beginning of the century. Show me any work of the Italians worth mentioning. The Flemish, on the other hand…. Well, take at least this Apollo (the countess pointed in the direction of the wall). What a grace and subtlety in his features! This is school, I must say, an old school".

Anne asked herself whether she should clarify that the said tapestry depicted a scene from the Old Testament and after a minute hesitation decided not to insist upon such details. Excessive pedantry, from her point of view, would have been inappropriate in this case and only broken the laws of hospitality. So if her guest wanted to consider the King David playing the lyre before Saul as the Greek god of arts, let it be so. "You are right", - she said simply, nodding her head.

"You are rrrright", - echoed the voice, surely not belonging to a human being. Anne Seymour started from unexpectedness. "Wh..what is it?" – she uttered in a slightly faltering voice, her eyes running in search of the source of this sound. For a moment she thought that her sister-in-law decided to mock her, imitating her manner of speaking in the same way as comedians at fairs did, amusing the crowd, but then discarded the idea. Such behaviour would have been too much even for Lissie Seymour.

"Anna!" – Elizabeth exclaimed with laugh. – "Haven't you noticed?" And she pointed at the bird cage standing in the corner behind a curtain. "This is our parrot. And it can talk if it deigns. Sometimes chatters for hours".

"Oh, my God!" – Anne Seymour breathed out with relief. – " A talking bird. I've heard about this, but haven't ever seen. Very funny". Mentally she took a note to demand from Edward to get her a parrot too. Of course, the countess had long passed the age when one might find fun in such amusements. But how could she permit that she lacked something the other people have? And by the way, it would be quite good to send a steward to the fair at that Antwerp. To renew tapestries.

"Please, excuse me, ladies", - Elizabeth suddenly stopped laughing. – "I must go. My Jonny has probably already awakened. Want to see how he is."

"Surely, his nurse is able to do it herself, Lissie. You pay her salary", - Lady Seymour understood that they were talking about her one-year old nephew, the son of Gregory and Elizabeth Cromwell and so far the only heir and successor of this glorious family.

"For maternal care there is no substitution. We, alas, can hardly comprehend it", Anne of Cleves said and immediately regretted what she had done. How could she forget that countess of Hertford had suffered two miscarriages? Under these circumstances, her reckless remark sounded tactless, or even worse - cruel. Out of corner of her eye she glanced at her guest. That woman was sitting still and straight, no muscle moved on her face. "But soon everything will change", - Elizabeth said slyly, rising from chair. "I'll see you out", - obeying a sudden impulse, Anne jumped to her feet too.

"Must you really go, Lissie? Couldn't you sit with us just a little longer?" – Anne asked almost pleadingly as soon as both women found themselves behind the door.

"I think my sister-in-law is not very happy with my company", - Elizabeth replied apologizing.

"What nonsense!" – Anne protested. – "And even if it's true, this is my home, and _I am _always happy with your company. So she'll have to put up with it".

"But maybe she wants to discuss with you something very important and can't do this in my presence," - the other woman supposed.

"She told you that?" - Anne pricked up her ears.

"No, no", - Elizabeth hastened to reassure her. – "It's just my guess. She did not say anything, though I asked her about the purpose of her visit".

"Well, if so, do as you see fit", - Anne remarked, looking through the open door at a drawing-room, deserted by them. – "I must go".

"I shall be at my chambers" – the girl answered, kissed her on check and rapidly walked away down the corridor. Sighing, Anne of Cleves went back to her visitor.

"Elizabeth has acted absolutely right. These servants cannot be trusted," – Lady Hertford resumed interrupted conversation. – "All they can do is to drink your wine, gossip and try to dupe you. Don't you agree with me?"

"Sometimes it happens," – Anne confirmed, recalling the recent story with the steward's report. Nevertheless she was amazed a little that her companion's thoughts took such a strange direction.

"Good, faithful servants are such rarity in our days", - the countess went on. – "You know for the last year I've changed three stewards. Though, the current one apparently produces a good impression. Young, but knows his job".

"Does your grace run the estates herself?" - asked Anne.

"Yes. The earl is too busy with public affairs. I have to keep an eye on the household myself. Otherwise, everything will be turned upside down".

"Exactly like me", Lady Cromwell gave a small laugh. Her visitor cast a meaning look at her and, slightly narrowing her eyes, mentioned: "I think, your grace, we have very much in common. This should not be neglected. Especially in times like ours".

"In times like ours?" - Anne repeated the phrase with wariness in her voice. – "Forgive me, but I don't quite understand."

"I mean", - her interlocutor said carefully, - "the general situation. I am sure you have noticed the recent heightened activity of supporters of the old faith. Such as Gardiner and others. They believe that the king inclines toward them, and decided to take an advantage of it. We should stick together, we, whose eyes opened to the truth", she concluded emphatically.

'_So that's why she has come - to offer an alliance. But under what conditions and for what purpose? And how should I behave in this situation? If, for example, she will not limit herself by general phrases and suggest something concrete? No, that hardly happens_', thoughts swirled in Anne's mind, replacing one another, so she was even perplexed by their pressure. More than anything else she regretted that Thomas was not here at this moment. In the absence of her husband, not knowing his attitude to the supposed union, how could she dare to take initiative in such important matter? She had no ideas about his present relationships with the Seymours, though personally she didn't trust these people a bit. In the end, she decided to talk with him about it tonight, and before that conduct herself politely but discreetly and under no circumstances make any promises. In case the conversation would reach the stage of them.

"The king opened a Pandora's box with his own hands", - after a brief pause the countess of Hertford continued her speech, - "and he cannot shut it now, whatever he wishes. The number of our supporters grows, the court including. Even ladies begin to show interest in these matters. You know we often meet together. A kind of circle. Reading, discussing, exchanging ideas. Of course, there is nothing wrong or heretical in it. All within the boundaries of permissible".

"And who are those "we", your grace?" – Anne inquired, realizing from this long tirade that her guest hinted at the existence of some society with still vague goals and kind of activity.

"Ladies of our rank and circle. The duchess of Suffolk, for example. And other noble dames too".

"The duchess of Suffolk?" - Anne of Cleves was surprised. – "I thought ... Doesn't her husband support the old faith?"

"He maybe, but not she", - said Lady Seymour. – "In our time, wife must not always follow her husband blindly. She may adhere to other views, if she considers them to be right. After all, what's more important than a clear conscience? And, of course, the salvation of soul."

Anna nodded. She was intrigued. This Lady Suffolk, it appears, is an interesting personality. Outwardly quiet and shy, but who knows what is hiding under this mask? Perhaps the marital life of Charles Brandon goes on not as smoothly in reality as he wants to demonstrate to others.

"I was told about a gentlewoman from Lincolnshire. She even left her catholic husband for that reason. And now seeking a divorce. Herself. Can you believe it?" The voice of Anne Seymour conveyed admiration. For a moment she imagined a world where women may do as they please without looking at the opinion of others, a world where they are independent and free. However, nowadays this is also possible. If you have brains.

'_Divorce is something I can understand_', - the former wife of the King of England thought to herself.

"Of course, Catherine doesn't need it. Why lose the title and position? It's like chopping off the branch on which you are sitting. She is not a fool to allow divorce. All she needs is to meet with Brandon as seldom as possible and live her own life", Anne Seymour summed up.

"The things have gone too far?" - Against her will Lady Cromwell went on asking questions. Her curiosity in this case appeared to be stronger than a determination made a minute ago to keep restraint.

"Further than we can imagine", - the countess leaned toward her and said a confidential tone, - "I heard as soon as he enters one door, she goes out in the other".

"Oh!" – That was all Anne of Cleves could utter. Catherine Suffolk with her family drama interested her more and more. Although, frankly speaking, she could not find in her heart a drop of sympathy for the husband of the duchess. Even if this desire would come to her.

"I'm not fond of snooping and gossiping. But that's what I'll tell you. It's all _his_ fault", - Lady Seymour pronounced with conviction. – "Not that I know exactly what happened there. In any case, the husband is always to blame. Believe me. We, women, get married full of good intentions. We want to love. And if our hopes are not justified, is it our fault?"

Anne of Cleves fell to thinking. There was a great deal of truth in the words of her companion. She only had to look back on unfortunate experience of her own first marriage to admit their rightness. Just think, with what enthusiasm and belief in future she left home, going to the uncertainty. And how quickly her enthusiasm vanished at the first contact with the ugly reality. Only good intentions were not enough. But intuitively she felt that the problem was deeper than Lady Seymour agreed to acknowledge. In marriage, as well as in war, there are always two sides. However, this subject was too delicate to afford frankness, especially with someone half-known to you. In the umpteenth time Anne regretted that she lacked such important qualities as the ability to conduct a talk, deftly avoid the pitfalls along the way, by one witty remark, skillfully and timely given, ease the nearly appearing tension. Now she saw clearly what an unforgivable mistake her guardians had made in their time when locking her within four walls and not allowing any serious contact with the world. Of course, they wished her best, but by that excessive concern and desire to protect her from the brutal reality with its temptations they had done her only harm. And though the princess had come a long way since the time when, a year and a half ago she had flown out of nest like a callow chick, so now she could hardly recognize in herself the traits of that naïve, inexperienced girl she had been once, something was lost forever. Never will she rid of this deeply established in her soul lack of confidence in her abilities, never will she defeat these sudden attacks of shyness, never will she learn how to behave in all circumstances as the real mistress of the situation. In other words, she will never become like… like Lady Seymour.

'_Definitely, this woman can't be called very talkative_', - the countess of Hertford complained in her heart. She didn't want to confess it, but she was a bit uncomfortable, because in all likelihood she failed to awake curiosity in her interlocutor or cause her to be frank. This German appeared to be more prudent than she expected. Or more shrewd to lay her cards on the table right now. Anne Seymour was vexed that she herself had gone in her talk farther than intended and could only hope that the other woman wouldn't read in her last words more than was meant for her. '_Nevertheless, it's time to take the bull by the horns_', - the countess decided and spoke again:

"However that may be, Catherine Suffolk certainly belongs to our faith. To tell the truth, she is one of the most ardent and zealous converts, one can say, a driving force of our little circle. Your grace would do us honor, joining us. All this as I've said is very innocent. But we would be glad to see you with us".

"Your invitation honors and flatters me", Anne of Cleves immediately responded. – "But I must confess I can hardly make significant contribution to your works. I am not particularly versed in matters of theology". And not particularly interested in them, she added mentally, but decided to refrain from pronouncing this aloud. Long ago she had realized, the less you speak about your religious beliefs (or the absence of them) the better.

"I am sure you are unfair to yourself", Lady Hertford shook her head. "Absolutely not", Anne hastened to protest. Suddenly she felt weariness. Purely physical weariness. More than anything else she wanted her guest to take her leave at last, so that she could stretch on a couch and put out of her head all unpleasant and disturbing thoughts. But how to make this lady understand it without risk to look impolite? "Besides, now I have other cares", - after a moment's hesitation Anna decided that this hint would be the most smooth way out of the situation.

"I see", - the countess drawled slightly disappointed. Then, collecting herself, she rushed to correct the matters: "And very pleasant cares, I dare say. Have you already decided how to call your baby?"

Anne's face brightened. "If it's a boy, we'll call him Philip. This is in honor of my cousin, the duke of Bavaria", - she explained. – "What if it's a girl ... Here we have our disagreements with Lord Cromwell".

"I think you should pray for the birth of a daughter. Even if you risk quarreling with your husband," the countess said thoughtfully.

"Why should I pray for the birth of a daughter?" - Anne raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Because, your grace, it's safer this way. You will not provoke the anger of the king", Lady Seymour said in a slightly muffled voice as if sharing important secret and not wanting to be overheard.

Anne's heart began to throb, while to her throat came a nauseous, muddy wave of disgust. "What does the king have to do with my pregnancy?" – She asked quietly, doing her best to retain composure.

"Absolutely nothing. That's the point. He has nothing to do with your pregnancy, my lady. Now imagine for a moment how he would accept the fact that you gives son not to him, but to another man. It's bad enough that you conceived so soon after the wedding. Sooner than new queen. And if a boy is born…" – suddenly the countess stopped, having noticed her companion's countenance. Usually friendly look in her comely eyes became cold and impenetrable. For an instant it seemed to Lady Seymour that another woman is sitting in front of her, a woman about whom she didn't know anything. "My pregnancy and the gender of my child concern only my husband, me and nobody else. Least of all it concerns the king. He gave his consent to the annulment of my marriage with him and to my new wedlock", - the princess said. Anne Seymour could have sworn that she heard metal in her voice.

'_She hates him_', - it pierced the mind of Lady Hertford. This conjecture was so startling in its obviousness, that the countess held her breath. She needed time to reflect on it and decide how she could use this sudden discovery. In the meantime the thoughts frantically rushed about in her head. '_Of course, she has all reasons for such feelings. And yet ... To demonstrate it so openly, not making a secret of them? She either cannot or doesn't want to conceal them. Or perhaps doesn't even realize them. Well, now it's necessary to figure out what she feels towards Katherine Howard'._

Meanwhile, fearing that her guest might take these sharp words at her own expense, Anne hurried to amend the situation. "Excuse me, my lady, for involuntary harshness. I didn't want to offend you. I only meant that I am a private person now, and my pregnancy does not have, so to speak, political importance. Besides, queen Katherine is also expecting a child, and so the king would hardly have grounds for any grievances", - she said in the most conciliatory tone possible and smiled timidly at her guest.

'_Thank you that you made my task easier'_, - the countess mentally expressed gratitude for this unintentional help. Then gathering her courage, she threw herself into the water. "Who told you that she is expecting a child?"

"My husband, of course", - Anne could not help but feel astonishment by this question. – "Haven't you heard about it? I thought everybody knows."

"From her words. And only from her words. There is no other proof. She was not even examined by a physician".

Anne's astonishment increased with each second. "Surely, your grace, Katherine should know such things", she supposed.

"But I am not sure of that. And in place of the king I wouldn't be so credulous. This empty-headed girl could have easily mixed up the days. I think she even can't count properly", the countess shook head, passing her sentence.

'_Empty-headed girl!'_ - Anne's astonishment exceeded all possible limits. Of course, she knew or rather suspected the true attitude the aristocracy had towards the young queen. All these courtiers, experienced in intrigues and cynical to the bone, could not help but look down on this ingenuous child who had accidentally ascended to the very height and didn't even guess about possible dangers lurking there. Her open-heartedness, her visible enjoyment of all pleasures of life, her sometimes striking naïveté together with complete inability to cover her thoughts and emotions, even absence of courtly manners – all this inevitably gave rise in their hearts to a patronizing contempt. In the best case. '_But to demonstrate it so openly! Aloud, plainly declare her disrespect for the king's wife. Or maybe she already regards me as an ally, sharing all her views? Or is it some kind of test?'_ From all these thoughts a chill ran on Anne's back. "I sincerely hope that your grace are mistaken in your suspicions", - she said with conviction. – "I hope so for the sake of welfare of the kingdom, the king and, naturally, the queen Katherine". _First of all, for the sake of Katherine_, she added to herself. In truth, Anne had already started worrying about possible barrenness of her young friend and the dangers arising from this fact. So when yesterday Thomas had told her the long-awaited news, she had sighed with relief. Of course, she didn't have the opportunity to say her congratulations to another future mother yet, but she was going to do this in the near future. Now, however, against her will she was seized by doubts.

"Welfare of queen Katherine!" – Anne Seymour slowly repeated the last phrase. Then she got up from her seat and took a few steps across the room, absently watching the objects there and still fanning herself. – "Of course, we all must pray for the welfare of queen Katherine". From her place Anne of Cleves followed every movement of her visitor. At the last questioning phrase of her she made a convulsive swallow. "Your grace, I beg you to explain…", she started, but the countess interrupted her by new question. "You like her, don't you?" And not waiting for the answer, as though she had asked it for mere formality, continued her offensive. "And who wouldn't? Such a sweet, such a merry girl! Always dancing, always laughing. And the king admires her…" Then, regaining seriousness, she said in absolutely different manner: "No, my lady, enough of this. We both understand that this scandal cannot last forever".

'_Now she will finally say it_', Anne guessed. '_Here it is, something very important she wanted to discuss with me. All the rest was a mere pretence, her talks about religion, about the duchess of Suffolk. Now I'll know why she has come'. _To the weariness she experienced a strange pain was added. Begun in the spine, it slowly but surely descended down her back to the waist, the thighs, enveloping her entire body with its waves. Not strong, it was unwelcome all the same, and Anne concentrated all her will to suppress this attack. To her greatest surprise she succeeded. The wave receded as suddenly as it came.

"The earl told me how she burst into the council chamber the other day. It was absolutely ... indecent. I still cannot recover from what I've heard", - oblivious of the strange state of the partner, Lady Seymour continued her accusatory monologue. "She is so young. Only eighteen years old. Almost a child", - the hostess tried to clear the atmosphere, but to no avail. "When I was _eight_ years old, I already knew how to behave", - the countess brushed off these arguments. – "Besides, she is not a child. Not in _that_ sense. You do understand me".

Anne of Cleves straightened in her chair and stared at the speaker. Her lips were pressed together in an effort to contain the nervousness mastering her soul. '_It's a good sign_', the countess of Hertford noted, - '_Her feelings are obviously touched. I can move further_'. "The fact is, your grace, that I knew Katherine Howard before her marriage to the king. Not that we were close friends, of course. But once or twice I met her in my London house, just on the eve of her presentation to the court. And those meetings, believe me, were enough for me", - the countess made emphatic pause. Catching interest in the eyes of her listener, she resolutely finished: "I saw the looks she gave at any man who only entered the room. She is not innocent. Never was".

With each passing minute Anne liked this conversation less and less. But now she already could not stop it. "So what's now?" She asked tiredly. "Why are you telling me this, your grace?'

Lady Seymour stopped in her movements along the drawing-room. Like a bird of prey, catching a smell of a long-awaited victim. Unconsciously she squeezed the fan so hard that the knuckles of her fingers turned white. Then in a slow pace returned to the seat she had left. "Do you let me be completely frank with you, my lady?" - She said. Anne of Cleves silently closed her eyes. "We all regret what happened to you. The earl, me, all our family. In fact, the whole court. You didn't deserve such treatment by the king. Especially taking into consideration what kind of person has occupied the place belonging to you by right. Of course, today it's too late to look back. The past can't be changed or returned. But… But we could try to restore justice."

"By what means?" Again Anne had to call for help all her will so that, fighting down the growing aversion, to continue the conversation. She had to carry it through at all costs. This idea, nestled in the depths of her being, mercilessly drilled her mind. "What can be done now?" She repeated with coolness which startled her.

The countess moved closer, and Anne tilted her head on reflex. Now they truly resembled the plotters, negotiating details of the future undertaking. "As I've already said, madam, I have serious grounds to doubt the virtuous behaviour of the present queen", started Lady Seymour. – "I stake my head that she had premarital liaisons. But suspicions are not proofs. Only when we get undisputable, unquestionable evidence, we'll be able to act. And to help the king to open his eyes to the truth". "And then violated justice will be restored", Lady Cromwell gave the cue. "Yes, exactly", taking ironic remark of her partner as face value, Anne Seymour hurried to confirm it. "Have a talk with my lord Cromwell", - she suggested. – "He has certain experience in such matters. Maybe, with his help…" "No", - Anne of Cleves didn't wait for the end of the sentence. – "My lord Cromwell will not do anything in this important business without direct orders of the king. He will not risk his career and reputation in the eyes of his sovereign".

"Perhaps, you are right, it's not safe", the countess pretended to reflect upon the words she had heard. – "And in general, the matter is too delicate, too intimate to entrust it to men. They are accustomed to rush ahead, whereas here the other methods are required." Then, as though the idea had just visited her, as though she had not nurtured it in her mind the whole day, she held up her head: "But fortunately, it seems, we have a solution. In all appearance, Katherine feels sympathy for you and it's good. Yes, it's good thing that you managed to establish confidential relationship with her. Do you see it? Maybe, somehow in a conversation you'll provoke… an avowal from her. She does not look like a person capable of keeping secrets for long, no matter either they are her own or anybody else's".

For an instant Anne of Cleves feared that her ear deceived her. It's impossible that she was offered such proposition in earnest. But no, it was truth not to be doubted. "Do you want me to betray her confidence?" – The question was more like an affirmation. "If she is innocent, she should not be afraid. But if our suspicions are justified… Everybody must pay for their sins". "You think so?" "That's my conviction. In this world we all get what we deserve".

Both women kept silence, using arisen pause to indulge in their own sad thoughts. Finally, Anne of Cleves spoke again: "I know sometimes it takes place. Such practice. Thomas told me. To a prisoner in his cell they put another convict who must cause him to be frank. To win his confidence, you see. Then he recounts everything to the jailers. It is very convenient, isn't it? No interrogations, no torture. And all the secrets are revealed. Agents-provocateurs, that's how they are called, these people, yes? Of course, they must be paid for their services, but the business is worth it". She raised eyes at her guest and looked straight into hers. "Do you suggest me becoming your agent-provocateur, Lady Seymour? And how are you going to reward me? Or do you think I should be satisfied with the awareness of fulfilling duty?"

'_How dares she.. What does she allow herself, this paltry princess from god-forsaken duchy_?' Inwardly Anne Seymour was boiling with indignation, but thought it better to keep from expressing her true emotions. So instead of bringing down her righteous anger on the head of this impudent person, she just bit her lower lip and said with all possible deference. "If I unwittingly offended you, madam, please, accept my apologies. It was not my intent. Let me tell you that we all had great respect for you. Not everyone would have behaved with such intelligence and dignity, being at your place. But let's be sincere with each other. It's impossible to suppose that you forgot and forgave everything. It would be unnatural". "Unnatural?" – Anne echoed. "Yes. You conduct yourself as expected from a lady of your rank, but in all honesty, is it genuine? Reconciliation with a rival, with a woman, who supplanted you in the king's affection? No. Nobody believes it".

'_Unnatural_', Anne sadly repeated it to herself. – '_They think my behavior unnatural. It would be natural, if I harboured evil feelings in my heart, planned revenge, called down curses upon… whom? This poor girl. It would be natural if I grasped with both hands at the proposal to destroy her. That they would believe'_. Grief squeezed her heart. All these months she struggled to get rid of her past, drive it out of memory as a bad dream. She already began to feel that she had done it, that she had started a new life, dissimilar from the former one, a life in which there is no room for hatred, jealousy, fear. These hopes were illusion. The past had caught her, and then the anger came.

"You are right, your grace", - Anne pronounced, rising from chair. Her visitor immediately followed suit. – "I have good memory. Very good memory. In particular, I remember very well who presented Katherine Howard to his majesty. It was your husband, wasn't he? Together with the duke of Suffolk, Francis Bryan, and perhaps your beloved bishop Gardiner. That's why you met her in your house. At that time she suited you. And after all she didn't disappoint you. She coped with her task to ruin the king's marriage."

Lady Hertford's cheeks became pale. Even in the worst of her misgivings she could not have assumed that the talk would go so far, that the former queen would venture…

"No, don't worry", Anne of Cleves hastened to reassure her. – "You need not apologize to me, for I am not angry. In fact, I must be grateful to you. Because, not wishing it you helped me to find happiness. I am afraid to imagine that I could have lived the whole life not learning it, not opening my eyes. And this happiness I would not exchange for not one but dozen crowns". She stopped to take a sip of air. The other woman looked at her with bated breath. "But I know another thing too. That all those efforts you undertook with a single purpose – to overthrow Thomas Cromwell. You hated him so much, all of you, that you would agree to a deal with the devil only to see him destroyed. And you would not be satisfied with his resignation. You wanted his death. If that accidentally didn't happen, it's not your husband's fault. He really did his utmost."

The countess felt she must have said something, intervened, disproved that hail of accusations, pouring on her, but the fury, strangling her, didn't let thoughts find the necessary clarity. Though her anger was mixed with some more subtle sense. Something very similar to shame.

"And now you come here, to the house of man whose murder you failed to carry out, and for what purpose? To apologize? To express remorse? No, to suggest another killing. You know how it will end in case of success, can't but know. And whom do you want to destroy now? The girl you used as your pawn, a child whose only fault lies in the fact that she didn't meet in her life a true friend and protector. Well, one execution failed, another will succeed."

'_Enough, I can't bear it any longer'_, Anne Seymour gathered all her will into a fist so that her voice didn't tremble with rage: "I don't know why you have come to such gloomy conclusions. The life of this girl, for whom, it seems, you have so touching care, nothing threatens. At least, from me. As for Lord Cromwell, yes, I admit, the earl had some disagreements with him, but all of it is in the past. They reconciled, and your husband doesn't bear us a grudge. Really you don't need to defend him so fiercely."

"He might be, but I am not. You were absolutely right, your grace. I didn't forget and didn't forgive", said the princess of Cleves.

"In this case, I can only hope that one day you'll see who is your friend and who is your enemy. Though I'm afraid it may be too late. Your Highness", having dropped into a deep curtsey, Anne Seymour turned and quickly went out of the room. The hostess did not make a single movement to stop her.

"What's happened, my dear?" – Elizabeth ran into the room and stopped at the doorway, startled. For the first time that she knew the Princess of Cleves, she found her in tears. – "I came across her at the corridor and she gave me such a look, I thought she wanted to strangle me. What's occurred between you?" Anne wiped her eyes and smiled reassuringly at her friend: "It's all right. Don't worry about me". "But I see…" Elizabeth started, but then changed her mind. She came to Anne and took her hand: "Pay no attention to it. She is bad, evil woman. She is always intriguing, she makes my brother suffer. I can't afford that she'll hurt you too. Whatever she would say, please, don't take it to heart. She is not worthy of your tears". "It's not about her", - Anne shook her head. – "It's about me. You know, I am happy. Yes, really. I know I acted carelessly, I might make a mistake and Thomas will be angry with me. No matter. I am happy. Finally I've said all what I thought. About all of them. I said what I've borne in myself all these months. And it's such a relief".

Elizabeth felt that she should not ask questions now. They were not required anyhow. Everything was clear without them. "I've come to call you to the dining-room. Dinner will be served, we are waiting only for you". "Start without me. I'll go down later". "Anne, dear, are you sure?" "That's all right. I am not hungry. I just want to be alone now". Elizabeth realized it's better not to insist. She gently patted her friend's hand and as quietly as she did in the presence of her little son left the room.

* * *

From the window of her carriage Anne Stanhope looked at the buildings emerging on her way, at people in the streets, but did not see them. Her eyes were blurred by the shroud of tears. How could she allow someone to dupe her that way! Tolerate such an insult and don't have an opportunity to repay the offender. At least not yet. Worst of all, almost all the time the countess of Hertford was absolutely sure of success, didn't doubt it. Perhaps she miscalculated some of her actions, perhaps, one word of hers turned out to be fatal, perhaps, if she had prepared better for that meeting… No, she had done everything correctly, no other plan was impossible to devise in her situation. It was not her fault. Bloody Flanders mare! Deliberately encouraged her, caused her to be frank, so that later, having learned her secrets, to assume that indignant pose. She may, God forbid, tell everything to Katherine Howard. Yes, she is capable of it. That's what was the most unbearable of all – not achieving anything, she, Anne Seymour, only gave herself away to her enemies. The countess wanted to scream from rage and humiliation, to beat her fists on the glass of carriage, to go out and throw something at the first passer-by, and the impossibility of such outpouring of feelings intensified her desperation. Only one thought gave her consolation. Quietly but persistently, it knocked in her mind all the time while a rich carriage of Lady Seymour drove her home, to her husband, impatiently waiting for news. She knew the secret of the former queen, something that was kept in the depth of her soul, hidden from prying eyes. She knew whom Anne of Cleves hated and whom she loved. This knowledge was costly. And the realization that she possessed the key to the heart of this woman aroused in her own heart the feeling of satisfying glee. After all, her today's visit to the house of Cromwell could not be regarded as completely unsuccessful.

* * *

From the window of her room Anne of Cleves looked at the barges sailing on the river, at the people on the shore, but didn't see them. Another pictures emerged before her eyes. The pictures from another life. Here, she is at Calais again, looking at the hitherto unknown card images, while the voice of the duke of Suffolk, sweet like a serpent-tempter, entices her by the visions of court life and his every word increases in her heart the feeling of inferiority. Here, she is watching with bated breath as the door in her apartments opens, letting in the man destined to become her husband and lord. She meets his eyes and this mutual gaze decides the fate of their marriage. Here, doing her best to look straight and proud as befits a true queen and by no means bend under the weight of her best dress, she enters the throne hall and senses on her skin dozens of eyes staring at her. They evaluate her every jewel, the smallest detail of her toilet, notice the most insignificant, the most innocent of her gestures, absorb like a sponge her every word. And among these people waiting with hope or fear for any of her slips, among these gazes greedily observing her she suddenly feels the one, the most intense and the most desperate, look. That feeling was the beginning of a long way that changed her life, but at that time she did not understand it yet. And the painful months of her life with Henry flashed before the eyes of the former queen, her pain, shame, despair from her own weakness and humiliation, her fear of the future. And how, one day, the most important day in her life, all these feelings just died, disappeared, ceased to exist, and were replaced by something strange, thrilling and incredibly beautiful. And once again she went through that terrible night, which finally opened her eyes. Then over a few hours she grew up for years. All these scenes stood before her as clearly as if they had happened yesterday.

And gradually, as the pictures from the past replaced each other as if in a kaleidoscope, Anne's soul became calmer and lighter. It was liberation. She realized that only now completely got rid of her ghosts, destroyed them in herself. She had done it when she said to that woman, who so suddenly and without warning intruded into her securely fenced off all external turmoil dwelling, the whole truth to face. She finally said aloud what she thought about those people who tried to deprive her of the man she loved more than life. Anne knew that she had just got a mortal enemy, but strangely it did not worry her. It was price for coming relief. So today's visit of Lady Hertford was not completely unsuccessful.

Then pain returned. But this time it was much stronger and Anne even uttered an involuntary cry of surprise. For some time she just stood motionless, afraid to move, afraid to lose hope. Then, calling for help all her courage, she looked down at the hem of her dress. But she could hardly see it. Her eyes were blurred by the shroud of tears.


End file.
